


Eddie's Epic Eros Escapade

by MarionetteFtHJM



Series: The Alliteration Archives [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Beverly Marsh is a Good Friend, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Copious amounts of alcohol - Freeform, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie gets picked up a lot, Eddie tries his best, Eventual Happy Ending, Fix-It, Fluff, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Canon Compliant, Pining, Plot Twists, Richie Toziers Trash Mouth, Stanley Uris is a Good Friend, Swimming, The Turtle (IT) CAN Help Us, You heard it here first, cursing and swearing, mild warning for Eddie's panic attack-like episode, no beta we die like men, wedding crashing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2020-12-21 11:29:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 55,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21074171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarionetteFtHJM/pseuds/MarionetteFtHJM
Summary: Eddie was so convinced he was going to die. That this, here in the cistern, would be it for him. He'd done it all right: he'd gone back home to help the Losers, he'd helped kill Pennywise the fucking space-clown and he'd made his last words a joke that Richie could be proud of. He was good to go - even if his last words weren't the ones he'd wanted to say. He was good to go. So, why wasn't he dead, then? More importantly: whose apartment is this and why is a small, angry woman ordering him to get dressed and get to work?(Or: Eddie gets a chance to tell Richie how he feels but he has to beat the time limit he has before Richie makes the worst mistake of his life and marries some rando)





	1. To The Only Boy Eddie's Loved Before

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! It's me again!  
i'm here with another fix-it that will have a happy ending, i promise.  
This time i wanted to write it from Eddie's POV because, really, we're all a little smitten with Richie ngl  
So while this is an AU, it takes place after Eddie gets (SPOILER) stabbed through the chest and it picks up from there. Have fun and i'll be updating as i write them.  
my estimation is about 7 chapters if it all goes according to plan and i have three of them written down already.  
anyway, enough from me and have fun reading and please be kind to my OCs they're sort of like the little conscious that Eddie's lacking when it comes to social awareness and stuff due to his situation and or to drive the plot when i get stuck lololo  
PS: the works in the series aren't related i just like fun titles

He's dying. He knows that he’s dying because there’s a hole in his chest and he can’t feel anything at all. His sight is swimming and the only thing he can focus on is Richie’s hand in his and the way the other is squeezing the life out of it. Heh.

“Richie – Rich, go – go kick its ass.” He urges the taller away, trying to wiggle his hand out of Richie’s grip.

“I’ll – I’ll come back, we’ll be back for you. Hang in there, don’t you dare leave me.” Richie orders through tears, face splattered with – oh, that’s his blood then.

And as Richie leaves, and they start figuring out how to defeat it, Eddie thinks about how he hasn’t told Richie about his stupid fucking feelings and that he probably never will. But that’s – that’s better, isn’t it? This way, Richie won’t have his last memory of him being an unwanted love confession in the midst of a battle with an intergalactic killer clown-thing. Eddie would never, not even if he had another chance, taint his memory in Richie’s mind by word-vomiting his feelings all over the both of them. Never.

And this way, Richie will look back and remember Eddie’s last words being that shitty _fucked your mom_ joke and he will laugh and put him in his next comedy special to honour his memory. That’ll be cool, and everyone will laugh and he’ll be remembered fondly. Not with disgust and pity. Damn.

They’re shouting and Pennywise is shouting back but Pennywise grows silent and the Losers grow louder. Eddie would shout, too, if he had a voice. But he’s no longer allowed one, because he’s almost dead. His time is almost up. And then the cave starts rumbling all around him and Richie’s in his line of sight, screaming and 

_This is it,_ he thinks and smiles, _I can go now._

* * *

He thinks he’s dead. He doesn’t know for sure. He _might_ be dead but then again he might not. He’s scared to open his eyes – if he even has any – and find out. It’s a bit of a _Schrödinger’s_ _cat_ of a situation.

_Come on,_ he coaches himself mentally; _stop being a fucking pussy for once_.

It takes too much effort and he almost gives up halfway but he finally opens his eyes after a solid few minutes of trying. Has it been a few minutes? Maybe it’s been an hour, maybe half an hour. Time is fake, anyway; who cares?

He blinks up at the white ceiling and the hanging light fixture there that he doesn’t recognize. He moves his gaze over the even surface that’s oddly familiar and yet not at all. It looks like a hospital ceiling because it’s almost clinically clean but the hanging lamp isn’t shining annoyingly down upon him. Well, if this was heaven, they sure could use a splash of colour in their interior design.

He makes the effort of tilting his head to the left to see if there’s anything there. His efforts are rewarded with the sight of a plain beige nightstand that has an alarm clock on it. The clock reads 7:58 a.m. so he assumes the alarm is going to go off at eight.

Past the nightstand there is a large closet with a sliding door that has a mirror on it – unfortunately placed where he can’t see his face. Or maybe it’s fortunate. He’s not sure he wants to see his own reflection right now. The closet matches the nightstand with its plain beige-and-white theme, a green plant in a white vase next to it up against the soft gray wall. That wall houses nothing more and Eddie moves his eyes along to the wall opposite of the bed he’s currently in. There are two white-framed windows and between them a flat screen TV mounted above a small unit that seems to hold various CD cases, a CD player and some scented candles.

The other side of the bed has an identical nightstand but this time with a lamp on it instead of a clock. There’s a white door on the right wall that’s closed and has a little hook holding a light jacket on it. There’s a curious lack of art – no. There’s a curious lack of _medical supplies and aperture _in the room so this doesn’t seem to be a hospital room. It looks like it’s just a plain bedroom of someone’s apartment.

After that analysis, he finally gathers the courage to look down at himself. The bedding is patterned with variously sized circles and matches the _aesthetic_ of the room immaculately. It’s _boring_. Even his pyjamas are a light gray because _God_ _forbid_ he stands out. He’s immediately irritated by it all so he decides to _fuck it_ and sit up.

He remembers, then, when a sudden phantom pain pierces through his torso, that he’s supposed to have a gaping hole in his chest and he shudders. Quickly shrugging off the shirt he was apparently sleeping in, he runs a hand down from his collar bones to his – huh, that is more _abs_ than he’s used to. There are also tattoos on him. Like, actual, proper tattoos that don’t come off when he tries to swipe at them with a wet thumb.

“Huh.” He croaks out, dizzy at these subtle changes and worried about the lack of recognition for the space around him.

He stumbles to his feet and ignores the slippers next to the bed. Instead, he rushes to one of the windows and lifts the blinds up. He peers out through the glass but there’s nothing distinct about the city that he’s faced with. The high-rise buildings look just like any big city in the USA and nothing stands out. The sky is gray and the buildings the ugly colours of New York. He assumes he’s still in the USA, at least. It would suck if Heaven was just New York but shittier. Or maybe that’s hell? Do the gays really go to hell? Is _that_ what this is?

The beeping of the alarm finally startles him out of his internal panicking and he walks over to turn it off. He checks the day of the week and it says Saturday so at least there’s no working – if he still even has a job. Does he have _torture_ scheduled? Well, his job was practically torture anyway, so.

A knock at the door makes him flinch in surprise. Ten thousand possibilities of who could it be run through his brain and he can’t settle on a single one of the options. Too many unknown variables, too many options. It could be the damned _pope_ for all that he knows.

He cautiously approaches the door with an arm outstretched in case whoever it is decides to barge in anyway. The worst possible option would be that shitty clown-faced bastard barging in and bringing chaos into this orderly room. But for some reason, he doesn’t think that’s the case.

He cracks the door open just the tiniest bit, peering out to see a short woman with jet-black hair and round glasses peering back at him with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re not ready. Where’s your shirt?” She demands, eyes dropping to his exposed chest. “Never mind that, we need to get to the office for the damn meeting by nine. I thought I told you that? Did you forget? This has been happening far too often, Kaspbrak. Put on a damn shirt, take your damn coffee and brush your damn teeth.” The woman waves a phone in his face and then turns around, disappearing down the hall and into an open living area that’s equally _IKEA_ catalogue-looking.

He closes the door and leans back against it. “What the fuck?”

He scrambles towards the closet, still avoiding looking at himself, and pulls it open. He finds a suit separated from the rest already hanging there – pressed and proper and he prays to whoever is listening that he’s supposed to wear that today. Who even has work on Saturdays?

He thinks about showering and then decides against it just because they’re probably late and if the woman knows him at all – which seems like the case – then she knows his showers are at least half an hour long and they don’t have time for that. He puts on the shirt, the pants, socks and belt but takes the suit jacket and the tie with him to the living room. He finds the bathroom to be one of the doors in the hall just outside of his bedroom and goes in to wash his teeth. He stares at the two toothbrushes and decides that the one that looks like it’s been aggressively overused is probably his.

He awkwardly looks around for a place to hang the jacket and tie on and then just puts them onto the closed lid of the toilet. Finally, _finally, _he meets his own eyes in the reflection of the mirror. He looks – well, he looks more drained, and he didn’t know that was even possible. His features are sharper and the stubble he’s sporting is aging him. His hair is cut like the models’ in the fashion magazines he’s seen around as opposed to the scruffy hairdo he normally sports. He’s all clean edges in the pressed gray suit. He never wears gray suits. It looks expensive as hell, too, so he’s slightly afraid to stain it.

He leaves the stubble, ignores how it makes him itch all over, and goes back out, shrugging the suit jacket on.

He wonders briefly if the short bossy woman was somehow _involved_ with him. He shudders thinking about being trapped in yet another loveless marriage. If _that’s_ even what’s happening. Oh – _oh. Where the fuck even am I?_ He thinks as he looks around the living room he’d spied down the hall earlier. It’s obviously his apartment that he shares with the black-haired woman but he can’t make out anything else important. He doesn’t even know her name; he can’t keep calling her _the woman_.

There kitchen is separated away by the large, marble-topped island and stiff-looking bar chairs. It’s clean to the point where he can see his own reflection in the white cabinet doors. It reminds him of his New York apartment, the one he shares with Myra. It’s almost as clinical as the hospital Myra forces him to visit once a month for a check-up and it makes him slightly nauseous. He tries to remain steady on his feet but he ends up swaying towards the island instead.

There’s a steaming cup of coffee there placed next to some mail and he takes a seat at one of the barstools. He brings the mug close to his face and inhales deeply, letting the familiar scent calm him. A door opens somewhere in the apartment and he tenses up, waiting for the woman to emerge. And she does, in a flurry, too. She’s dressed in a smart suit with high heels that clack against the floor loudly as she stalks over to him.

“Here,” She thrusts a folder into his hands and he almost drops the mug in his hurry to grasp it. “These are the reports that they want us to go over today. I told them that going over them again won’t change the fact that they’re indebt but – you know. What the fuck do I know, right?” She shakes her head derisively and then finally looks up at him because he still hasn’t responded.

“Well?” She tilts her head. “Are – are you okay?” Her voice softens and places the back of her hand on his forehead. “You’re a little warm.”

“Oh, uh. It’s nothing.” He flinches back, frowning. Myra would have already been all over him with medication and ointments if she even _thought_ he was coming down with something.

“Well, then. If it’s nothing, forget about that stupid fucking letter and meet me down by the car. I’m waiting for ten minutes and then I’m leaving your ass to call the driver.” She flicks him on the forehead and then turns around, picking up the laptop bag from besides the door and leaving the apartment.

He watches her go and waits for the door to close before he descends upon the pile of letters in search for the name of his supposed roommate. He _still_ doesn’t know if they’re a thing. But he knows that there isn’t a wedding ring on his finger so they’re at least not married.

Most of the letters are titled to him and there’s one that seems to have been torn open – which is a shame because the envelope is pretty beige and gold. He grunts, leaning forward as he finds one of the letters that’s not his. The name on the envelope says _Alessia Martinelli._

“Okay, now that that’s settled.” He takes a sip of the coffee and hums, just how he likes it. This Alessia girl really does know him and he feels bad for not knowing _anything_. Which is stupid because this _isn’t _his home and this _isn’t _his life. Sure, he has his body and his taste in coffee but this apartment, the clothes in the closet, the bedroom itself – it’s not his. And he doesn’t know what kind of _bizarro_ universe he’s been transported to but he doesn’t like it at all.

At least he still remembers everyone. He remembers Ben and Bev holding hands while they fought It, he remembers Mike and Bill screaming at the top of their lungs. He reaches out and picks up the envelope again, he brings out the piece of fancy folded cardboard that’s in it. He flips it open and it looks like an invitation. He remembers Richie, too. He doesn’t think he could ever forget Richie again. He remembers that –

_You have been invited to celebrate the wedding of Richard & Stuart on 8_th _of August, 2016._  
_The wedding ceremony will be celebrated at the Adaaran Resort in the Maldives._  
_All expenses are taken care of so please RSVP by 5th of August._  
_We hope that you can come share food, drinks and dances with us there!_  
_~Richard and Stuart~_

He stops breathing as his hands start shaking, the world spins out of focus and the chair he’s on wobbles. Richie, _his_ Richie, is getting married. His Richie is getting married – to a man. In the fucking _Maldives_.

“Holy fucking shit on a stick.” He drops the invitation like the paper is covered in acid.

Alessia’s words come back to haunt him as soon as he realizes that he’s seen the envelope before. It was torn _opened hastily_, so he’d had to have seen it before. _Forget about that stupid fucking letter._ Oh, whatever’s happened here wherever he is – it seems like he’s reacted to this situation similarly in the past as well. At least he’s consistent.

He spots a whiskey glass in the sink, the only thing that’s out of place – along with his phone that’s plugged into the charger by the said sink. At least he assumes it’s his phone because it’s the only one there. He walks over to it, dumping the rest of the coffee down the drain because suddenly he can’t stomach it.

He presses his forefinger to the finger identification pad and the screen lights up. His background is the Losers all crammed into a selfie with him and Richie in the middle. His heart seizes at how happy they all look. They all look the same as from where he came from. But they also look happier – they look like they hadn’t recently been brought out of a 20 year-long memory loss haze and told that they had to fight an eldritch horror from outer space. Maybe in this weird universe where Richie is getting married to some guy named _Stuart_ they never did.

He opens up the calendar and sees that it’s still July, the 18th of to be exact. A week before he got the call to come back to Derry from Mike, then. He sighs and opens up the messenger app on his phone. He sees unopened messages from Beverly, Richie and _Stan_ – oh god, _Stan_. His entire body lurches forward with sudden anxiety. Stan is alive here, he’s alive and he’s texting Eddie and they’re all still good friends. His ten minutes are almost up and he needs to leave is he is to try and remain unsuspicious. He doesn’t process fully, lets the information float into the back of his head for now. He’ll have his breakdown later. Surely, this _is _hell? 

He assumes that he has a briefcase somewhere so he unplugs his phone and takes it with him on his search for some sort of carried. He can’t help thinking about the damn wedding invitation, though. He feels like he needs a drink. He probably got drunk last night and that’s why Alessia was so mad at him this morning.

He finds an office behind one of the doors in the hall that leads to his bedroom. It’s plain but at least there are photos of him and the Losers framed on the beige bookcase and tacked onto the corkboard. He spots a briefcase on the table so he makes a beeline for it, shoving his phone in there and going back with it to the living room, putting the folder Alessia had given him in as well.

He takes the elevator in the hall outside the apartment down to the basement where the garage is. He doesn’t know which car but he assumes that it’s a pricy-looking one, something fit for two adults in their forties (how old even _is_ Alessia?) that seem to be rooming together and appear to be working for a well-off company.

Thankfully, most of the parking lot is emptied out and there’s only one car that looks expensive as all hell down there so he heads towards the Rolls Royce Phantom. His mouth salivates a little as he thinks about driving the car. He’s never been one to obsess over transportation but he’s still going to appreciate the fuck out of a good car when he sees it. He opens the passenger door and gets in, setting the briefcase onto his lap neatly.

Alessia looks him over critically, scrunching her nose at his apparent state of disarray. “No tie, huh? Bold choice but I’ll let it slide this time.” She starts the car and he realizes that he has indeed forgotten the tie in the kitchen.

Maybe it’s for the best. He doesn’t think he’d be able to stomach something around his neck, fitted there snugly and tightly. He thinks he’d probably choke halfway through their drive to the office.

Oh, that’s right, he still doesn’t fucking know where they are.

Sighing, he pulls out the folder she’d handed him – how very quaint of her, too. He would have expected a file on an iPad or something. But he prefers and always will prefer papers to electronics so that hasn’t changed either.

He spends the rest of the half an hour-long ride reading the reports that turn out to be boring as fuck.

* * *

The building they park in front of is taller than any building he’s ever worked in back home. He still doesn’t know where he is but he follows Alessia dutifully and resolves to look it up on Google Maps later.

Alessia swipes them in at the front door and that’s excellent because he doesn’t even know where his wallet is. He’s more of a mess here in this weird reality than he was back in Derry with the stress of Death and unrequited emotions hovering over him like the blade of a guillotine.

“Hello, Mr. Kaspbrak.” The pretty woman at reception calls, batting her eyelashes at him sweetly.

He hopes he doesn’t grimace as he tries to hide most of his frame behind Alessia who shoots the woman a scornful gaze and a gruff _Not today, we’re busy, Monique. _

They get in the elevator and Eddie refuses to meet his eyes in the mirrored walls. He stares at his dress shoes that he barely remembers putting on and thinks about how he’s going to survive through the meeting about something that makes very little sense to him. He’s read the reports and Alessia was right, whatever finance job they’re doing for these people – it can’t help their situation.

Predictably, they stop at one of the top floors. From what he’s gathered they’re working for a company that deals in investment banking, finance and risk analysis. _Boring_, he thinks to himself as they emerge from the short hall and into a reception area that precedes the conference room that they’re supposed to be in. _Richie would hate it here._

“Morning Mister Kaspbrak,” The woman behind the desk, another unnaturally attractive lady, smiles at him brightly, leaning forward a little.

“Are the clients here?” Alessia cuts off anything else that the woman might have wanted to add, short and ruthless. He’s starting to see why he’d want her as his business partner – which he’s assuming they are.

The woman behind the desk, _Sandra_ her nametag reads, deflates a little. “Yes, they’ve arrived a little over five minutes ago. I’ve gotten one of the interns to bring them coffee already and there’s a cup in there for you.”

“Good, back to work.” Alessia waves a hand and Sandra nods.

Eddie can’t help but feel like he’s missing something here. He resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and stomp his foot against the ground like a toddler. This has got to be the second worst day in his life and so the list now goes:

  1. _The day I realized I was in love with Richie Trashmouth Tozier_
  2. _The day I woke up in some fucked up reality where nothing makes sense_
  3. _The day I got impaled by a killer clown_

There are several agitated men sitting around a big oval table inside the conference room. He follows Alessia inside, keeping his trap shut just in case he starts spewing shit worse than a sewage leak.

“Gentlemen, pleased you could meet us here on such short notice. Sorry we’re late, the traffic is as it is.” She carries herself with an air of confidence he wishes he owned. And maybe this bizarro-Eddie does. Maybe this not-Eddie that he’s supposed to be is some rich fucker that doesn’t care about anyone and knows he is the shit. Maybe he should try to emulate that.

He straightens his back and takes the first available seat as Alessia sets up her laptop with familiar ease, using the projector to put some graphs onto the wall that clearly show just how fucked the company these men represent is.

He watches her work, amazed at how unrelenting and fierce she is as she basically tells them all to _fuck off_ and that they’re _not_ getting money because there is no foreseeable growth to their company. He’s basically there as an accessory and he’s okay with it.

Until a man leans against the table, coffee in hand, and points to him. “And if this were to have been prevented, what were the risks that we shouldn’t have taken? What did us in?”

“Mr. Carter, Mr. Kaspbrak isn’t really the-” Alessia starts but Eddie’s got this. She can trust him not to fuck this up.

He sits up straight, tugs down his buttoned suit jacket and starts. He’s seen the charts in the file, already calculated everything mentally, he just needs to dumb it down to layman’s terms for these suits here. He’s been to these kinds of meetings – usually not sitting in the front but they’re all the same no matter where they’re sitting. He explains to them, gives them the statistics, switches to one of Alessia’s slides to prove his point and then nods to Alessia, giving her the go-ahead.

“As my respected colleague has repeatedly stated. Your company is not viable for the loan because, based on our calculations, it won’t be able to pay it back in the allotted time period. Therefore, I thank you for your time but our business will be concluded with this meeting.” He gives the collective a little nod and the men grumble, start packing up and vacate the room a little too slowly.

“Well, that went well.” He turns to Alessia with a grin that falls immediately when he sees the look on her face. “What?” He asks, shrinking in on himself.

“Since when are _you_ an expert in risk analysis?” She sits down into the chair opposite to his heavily, a suspicious look on her face behind her glasses.

“Um, I’m not?” He tries, wincing at how unsure he sounds.

“No? Then what the hell was_ that?”_ She hisses, “Analysis is Terrance. Finance is me. And investment banking is _you_. This operation works because we don’t cross streams, Kaspbrak. You’re lucky Terrance called in sick for today. Which, is bullshit by the way, he just didn’t want to come in on a Saturday.”

“Can’t a guy have interests outside of his field?” He wishes she’d drop it. He doesn’t know who this Terrance guy is nor why he’s important but he sure hopes he doesn’t have to meet him yet. This has been too many new people for one morning.

“Your interests are _women, money _and _making more money.”_ Alessia crosses her eyes over her chest, not buying it for even a moment.

“Wow, way to make me sound like a douchebag.” He snorts a failed attempt at a laugh.

“You _are_ a douchebag, Eddie, and you’re proud of it. Don’t even pretend that’s not true.” She holds up a hand as if to stop his protests that are currently non-existent.

_Him?_ A _douchebag?_ What the fuck kind of weird universe is this? He’s seriously started doubting that this _isn’t _hell. This sounds like his worst nightmare. Also, _women_? Really? No wonder he drives a Rolls Royce, he’s totally overcompensating for all of his inner gayness.

“I’m, uh, sorry?” He tilts his head, going for the puppy eyes but Alessia flinches back almost violently.

“What?” She whispers out harshly. “Did you have a stroke last night? Did you drink yourself into a fucking coma? Am _I _in a coma? What the fuck was in that wedding invitation?”

“Look, this is going to sound pretty crazy but I have to tell you something.” He looks around as if he’d be able to see and figure out if they were being tracked and listened in on by anyone.

“Nothing’s crazier than you apologizing, Kaspbrak.” She takes a careful sip of her coffee, shoulders still stiff and eyes still unable to meet his.

“I’m not – I’m not the Eddie Kaspbrak you know.” He whispers out, hands wringing together. “I woke up in that bland fucking room this morning and I didn’t recognize anything. I don’t know who you are; I don’t know what my job is. This whole fucking thing is a mystery to me.”

She blinks at him rapidly and sets the foam cup of coffee on the table. “So, what? Amnesia?”

“No – not, it’s – I’m not _from_ here. I don’t even know which city this is. I live in New York, I have a wife that I hate, I work as a risk analyst in a small company and I always carry an inhaler with me even though I don’t have asthma because it helps me calm down.” He talks slowly, careful not to trip over his words so that Alessia will understand the truth.

“I’ve read about this,” She nods to herself. “You’ve finally cracked. The pressure was too much and you developed an alternate personality to help you cope. That’s – that’s fine. We can work with that. As long as you keep your mouth shut and-”

“No.” He groans, throwing his hands up. “No!” He stands up to pace, unable to sit still any longer. “I grew up in Derry, Maine. My best friends are Bill, Bev, Ben, Mike, Stan and Richie. Bev works in fashion and Ben is an architect. Bill is a famous writer and Mike is probably still a librarian back in Derry, Stan is – well, a long story. And Richie is – Richie is a famous comedian whose jokes are shitty but somehow they always make people laugh. Though, personally, I always thought that was because of his charisma or whatever the fuck Trashmouth used to call it. And he’s getting married! Did I tell you that? You said I drank last night, that’s the reason. He’s getting fucking married and it’s not to-” He wheezes, lungs constricting as he fights for breath. God, not now, not here where he doesn’t have his inhaler. Fuck, _fuck._ He drops down to his knees, startling Alessia from her staring.

“Eddie? Eddie!” She rushes towards him, gripping his wrist to stop them from clawing at his own throat. “What’s happening?”

His vision swims, the panic is finally catching up with him. The clothes on his back are too restricting and his mouth is dryer than the Sahara. And he still can’t breathe properly. His heartbeat is crazy fast and he doesn’t have Richie next to him to calm him down.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” Alessia chants with feelings, fanning her hands around, panicking. “Come on, Eddie, dickhead, breathe, for fuck’s sake!” She smacks him on the chest and then pulls him into a hug. “Breathe with me, count with me.” Alessia starts counting their breaths and Eddie lets himself listen to her voice, tries to block out the buzzing in his head. She reaches zero and then starts again.

He’s managed to calm down by the third time they hit zero. His chest shudders and he hugs her tighter, staining her blazer with tears and snot probably.

“Holy shit, you’re okay. You’re okay, Eddie.” She runs a hand along his back and he relaxes minutely.

After too long, he leans back, embarrassed to meet her eyes. He’s a grown man that’s just had a breakdown in front of a colleague in the middle of a conference room that’s probably being monitored by the security office. He sighs and accepts the tissue that Alessia offers.

“Sorry about the blazer.” He mumbles, not really sure if he’s even allowed to speak after all that.

“Jesus, Ed, you’re serious? Really? You’re not Eddie-from-here?” Her face pinches up in disdain as he nods.

“I was – I was about to die where I’m from. A long fucking story, even crazier than this. And now I’m here.” He blows his nose into the tissue noisily, trying hard not to start bawling again.

“Are you _sure_ it’s not a split personality disorder?” She tries again, meek and defeated somehow. She looks younger than she has all morning now that her posture isn’t ramrod professional anymore.

“Did Eddie-from-here really have it that hard?” He leans back against the chair, refusing to get off the floor yet even though it’s probably filthy. Ugh.

“I mean – I don’t think so? The job’s stressful enough but he usually dealt with it by picking up a random hook-up or going to the gym. On the rare occasion he’d drink but he hasn’t been as smashed as last night since college.” She shrugs, still on the floor as well but looking less bothered about it.

“We went to college together?” He asks because that particular bit catches his attention.

“Sure did, up in Georgia.” She smiles a little, “Had a grand ol’ time, too. Started this place right out of the ceremonial robes with our diplomas still in our hands and the business bloomed like you wouldn’t believe.”

He grunts a little at that because, yeah, that’s happened to them here too, then.

“Hey,” She nudges him with a heeled foot. “Why’d you freak over the invitation? The Maldives too far for ya?”

“Oh, uh, no.” He gulps, about to admit to this viable stranger something that he hasn’t been able to admit to himself for over twenty years and two days. “I’ve been in love with Richie for the better part of my life and it’s fucking sucked.”

“Shit!” She yells and then slaps her hands over her mouth. Her eyes are wide and amazed, something in them excited despite the shock. He rolls his eyes back at her, picking at the hem of his pants uneasily.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.” He grunts when she remains silent.

“No, no!” She wheezes a little, less violently than he usually does. “No, this makes perfect sense. If Eddie-from-here is in love with him, too, then that would explain all the whoring around.”

“Wow, glad to know you think so highly of Eddie-from-here.” He crosses his arms over his chest defensively. This guy might not be him but he’s still him. Ugh, that’s complicated.

“No. Don’t get me wrong. Eddie-from-here is one of my two best friends and I appreciate him a lot but it’s just that the way he treats the women he sleeps with is garbage. I’ve tried talking to him about it but he’d usually shrug me off and tell me to butt out. This Richie guy, I’ve met him like once or twice. I always knew the two of you were too close. You let him get away with _way_ too much.” She giggles, clapping her hands together.

Eddie fumes silently, going red in the face. “Shut it. We grew up together; it’s always been like that.”

“And you’ve always been in love with him. So.” She says like it’s the most logical thing that’s left her mouth ever.

“So nothing, he doesn’t love me back like that and that’s the problem. I didn’t even – I didn’t even know he likes guys and now he’s getting married to some fucking douche named _Stuart._ He’s probably from California and, like, blonde, mark my words!” He turns to his briefcase, angrily digging through it to find his phone.

He unlocks it and searches the apps. He finds Instagram, cringing mentally as he opens it to his profile and finds gym selfies and ritzy-looking party photos on there. He really _is_ a dickhead, then. He finds Richie in his followers next and scrolls through his profile.

There’s an interesting lack of significant other photos lately but the older ones are still there. And he grunts in success, shoving the phone in Alessia’s face. “See? I was right.”

“Uh, he looks like an asshole.” She scrunches her nose up in distaste. “Then again, so does Richie so like – match made in heaven?”

“_No.”_ He hisses, pouting aggressively. “Richie’s an asshole to _me_ and I’m an asshole to _him_. It’s how it’s always been, it’s how we work. It’s how it’s supposed to be.”

“This guy, really, Ed, out of everyone.” She smacks her lips together. “Guess love really is blind.”

He decides not to deign her with an answer because even if Richie’s lost the long curls and the smooth lines of his face, he’s still handsome and tall and funny and a genuine fucking person. Sure he’s an insufferable prick, too, but that’s just a part of his charm. Even though Eddie would rather die than tell him that. Ha. And look where he is now! Probably dead and in hell!

A new notification on his phone sounds and he remembers he hasn’t answered any of his messages or the tens of e-mails he has stored. He opens the messenger app again, choosing to respond to Beverly first.

_Bevs: Eddie._   
_Bevs: Eddie!!_   
_ Bevs: Eddie hon are you okay????_   
_ Bevs: pls ur making me worry_   
_ Bevs: eddie i know you hate this but please itd make him happy if u were there_   
_ Bevs: respond when u wake up bitch_

He swallows down the bile that rises up from his stomach. So Beverly knows. She knows about his stupid feelings and from what he can gather from scrolling up in the chat, he really doesn’t like this Stuart guy. He can imagine why even without ever having met the dude.

He types a short little _‘I’m fine, had a meeting this morning sorry’. _Followed by another less than empathetic ‘_Yeah, I’ll be there, don’t worry’._

“Looks like I don’t really like this Stuart. One of my friends seems to think I’ll want to miss the wedding.” He looks up briefly before focusing back onto the messages.

“Well, I mean... will you?” Alessia asks and then stands up slowly, giving him time to think.

“I – no. I won’t miss the wedding. I know Richie, if I missed his goddamn wedding he’d hold it against me for the rest of our lives.” He Tries to smile but fails miserably at the thought of this Stuart guy coming in between Richie’s and his friendship.

_Stan: I hate to do this to you, but you should probably attend the wedding, Eddie_   
_Stan: I know you won’t want to but I think you should._   
_ Stan: I hope you didn’t do anything stupid yet._   
_ Stan: Leave that for the wedding reception._

He snorts wiping at his eyes for the reminder of the tears. Stan. God, he’s missed Stan a lot. He’s so happy that they’re all here together – even if Eddie’s the one to have to suffer for it. He’ll gladly do it if it means Stan and the other Losers are free to live their lives here. 

He decides to respond to Stan with a simple sentence of _I’ll be there, dickface _followed by _you can count on me for a good reception show, don’t worry._

He’s not really actually planning on doing anything drastic at the reception. If he’s even _here_ in this bizarro universe for that long. Maybe he’s just here until he falls asleep again and then he’ll just die. Maybe he’s dead and cycling through universes that could have been.

He takes a deep breath before opening Richie’s message. He gets up and drops into the chair again, swaying from side to side.

_Richie: hey, Eds_   
_Richie: i know we havent talked in a few and that ur busy with ur fancy company but_   
_ Richie: i was hoping ud be there with the rest of the losers a few days before the wedding so we could chill before shit gets hectic_   
_ Richie: lmk when u can_   
_ Richie: looking forward to seeing u spaghetti!!!!!_

He chokes back a whine. Richie wants him there earlier. Richie wants him and the rest of the Losers to just chill and hang out in the fucking _Maldives _like his world _isn’t _falling apart in his hands. This fucking blows. At least in that damn cave he knew he was going to die and that was final. But here? Here he doesn’t know anything. Everything is new and strange and –

“Which fucking city are we even in? God.” He grinds out, frustrated at the sheer _inconvenience_ of it all.

“Detroit.” Alessia hums, turning off her laptop and giving him a moment to gather his thoughts.

“That’s fucking lame.” He grunts, locking and unlocking his phone repeatedly.

Alessia snorts, “Terrance wanted to be close to home. Wife and kids and all that.”

He hums, looking back down at the phone and realizing he’s left Richie on _read_. “Shit,” He mutters, trying to come up with something coherent to respond with. He’s a grown man, he should be able to do this. Okay, let’s see. 

_Hey, how about I don’t! And you don’t marry this douchebag and run away with me instead? -_Doesn’t quite seem like the appropriate response to a wedding invitation.

_I love you don’t make me do this –_ seems a little desperate and out of the blue so that won’t work either.

_Fuck you, Richie Tozier –_ well, it’s not Richie’s fault Eddie had gone and fallen in love with his sorry ass so he erases that one as well.

_Hey! I got the invitation last night, real classy-looking! - _He cringes inwardly but sends it and then keeps typing. _Yeah, I’d love to come by earlier and see the rest of you sorry lot! Let me know how early you want me there and I’ll book a flight!_

There, normal and supportive like any best friend should be. Thankfully it’s only a text so Richie can’t see the way his hands shake as he types it out and presses send. It’s embarrassing, really.

“Hey,” Alessia turns to him suddenly, another curious tilt to her eyebrows. “Why do you think you’re here? Like, whatever transported you into the shoes of Eddie-from-here must have had _some_ reason for doing so, right?”

“Oh, uh. I don’t know. I don’t think I have any – well, that’s a fucking lie, of course I have regrets. But nothing major that warrants a life-changing experience in another dimension.” He leans back, closing his eyes and trying to think.

“Okay, hear me out.” He can hear her shifting around in the chair, the plastic squeaking as she spins it in circles. “What if – what if it has something to do with your Richie problem?”

“There is no _Richie problem.”_ He responds automatically, wincing at how unconvincing he sounds even to his own ears.

“No, but like, what if this is your second chance? What if this is the one where you make it right? Like, you go to the Maldives, right? And you win him back – win him over, whatever.” She pauses, waiting for his reaction.

He opens his eyes and blinks at her like she’s stupid. Because that _was_ pretty fucking stupid. That’s possibly the stupidest fucking thing he’s _ever_ heard. “This isn’t a _rom-com._” He states firmly, refusing to encourage the fluttering in his stomach.

“Isn’t it, though?” She leans against the table, supporting her chin with her hand. “Think about it. You’ve been transported here just as you were about to die. You’ve got a new life, new friends along with your old buddies, you’ve got a shitton of money and babes are throwing themselves at you. And you’re still pining over the same damn guy. A guy that’s getting married in like two weeks. I’ve connected the dots.” She spreads her arms wide and then connects her index fingers in front of her. “This is your biggest regret, this is your chance to say what you couldn’t back wherever you’re from.”

“That sounds vague and unconvincing but, sure, okay.” He scrubs a hand over his face aggressively. “I can’t do that to him, though. If he’s happy enough with this Stuart guy to marry him then who am I to stand in the way of that?”

“Eddie, sweetie.” Her tone is condescending but oddly caring as well. “If he’s been into guys this whole time, he’s been close to you _like that _this whole time; he’s been your friend through all your unbearable bullshit... I hate to say this but I think he might like you back but you’ve just never allowed yourself to admit it so maybe he’s been pining over your oblivious ass.” She drums her fingers against the table, a thoughtful look on her. “I’ve seen the two of you interact. You’re a regular douchebag on a good day but with them – with your Derry, Maine buddies, you’re a whole other person. More _this_ than Eddie-from-here.” She smiles at him and he’s blinded and startled by the power of it. He has a feeling she’s not one of those people that smiles often so he takes a moment to appreciate the gesture.

He hates that what she’s saying makes sense. He hates that he’s allowing himself to _hope_. Because he’s had his hopes dashed before. He’s had countless of moments in his childhood be written off as Richie just messing with him, just doing it to make fun of his idiosyncrasies and quirks. But maybe he can be mature about it this time around; maybe he can be better than both Eddie-from-the-cave and Eddie-from-here.

“You gonna be my plus one? I don’t think I can do this alone.” He admits. He knows he’ll have Bev and Stan there and they supposedly _know_ but Alessia is the only one he’s currently familiar with in this strange reality.

“Course I am! I wouldn’t miss this shit for the world!” She claps excitedly, springing up and tugging him to his feet as well. “Come on, we have shopping to do. Eddie-from-here never let me near his closet. I think I like you much more than him. I feel like that’s a mean thing to say but, man. I guess it _does_ makes sense – what with how deep he was in it, who knows what I would have found in there! Ha!” Alessia rambles, almost skipping towards the door and Eddie can’t believe this is the same mean-faced woman from this morning.

Well, guess he really did have some rights to wrong in Eddie-from-here’s stead.

* * *

That evening they get back to the apartment and order takeout, pop open a bottle of some pricy Italian wine and he lets Alessia vent.

She vents about how _anal_ Eddie-from-here is. She tells him about how she’s not allowed to leave one thing out of place in the part of the apartment that is communal and he, in turn, laments how boring and plain his own room here is, too. He may be a neat freak about most things but that doesn’t mean that everything needs to look like the hospital. She tells him about how they never do anything fun anymore and about how he’s

But he understands Eddie-from-here to some extent. The more he listens to her talk about their lives and about their college days – this is who Eddie-from-the-cave would have ended up becoming if he hadn’t married Myra and had allowed himself to make proper friends in college. He could have ended up being a repressed _manwhore_ with a successful company and a lot of fucking money attending his best friend’s wedding. Instead – both him and Eddie-from-here have been granted a chance at redemption. He hopes that even when he has to leave this place, Eddie-from-here doesn’t go and fuck up all his hard work. Oh, and he hopes that Eddie-from-here isn’t dying in his stead back in that cave. That would be inconvenient.

He feels slightly bad that he’s badmouthing himself and basically setting a higher standard for Eddie-from-here once he returns (_if _he returns). But seriously, Eddie-from-here needs to get his shit together. He can’t just treat his closest friends like business partners. Even though the Losers are his only friends in his own universe, Eddie-from-here has other people in his life and he should treat them better.

So, as he said... setting things right.


	2. The Dark Pictures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter two since i realized chap one didnt have much in regards to eddie/richie interactions so i was like you know what, might as well post the second one and be nice about it   
Enjoy!

Richie requests his presence on the 1st of August with a cheerful but short message filled with a lot of emojis that Eddie doesn’t particularly care for. Almost a whole week before the wedding. He’s going to fucking lose it and end up on the news for burning down an exotic resort in a bout of anger.

Hopefully not, though.

But there are preparations to be made so he gets to that.

He lets Alessia _(‘Call me Alex’)_ cart him around, getting him ready for the trip in every way possible – from the clothes down to the toiletries and drinks they’ll be packing in one of their bags in case it goes sour. Alex helps him deal with a week of work he’s not familiar with and Terrance – who is a really nice guy, it turns out – only looks at them suspiciously once per day.

Sometime during Wednesday, Terrance comes into Eddie’s corner office with his arms crossed and a petulant frown on his face, demanding to be told what’s going on. When they don’t tell him anything, he accuses them of _finally getting over their pining and sleeping together_ at which point the both of them start laughing.

So Eddie admits to a smaller shock – the one that isn’t _I’m not your Eddie, surprise! _He tells Terrance that he’s gay and that they’re planning on going to the wedding to win over the love of Eddie’s life. Terrance drops his coffee, spilling it all over Eddie’s immaculate office floor. Alex runs over to get the cleaning lady while Terrance and Eddie stare at each other in tense silence until Terrance lets out a silent _it all makes sense, now._

Eddie would be offended if he hadn’t thought the same exact thing already. And maybe it makes sense in regards to Richie, too.

The Trashmouth always_ was_ making jokes about his dick and all the girls he fucked, after all. It makes sense that the bad humour was hiding the truth. He just wishes he’d seen the signs earlier. Then again, the last time he’d really _seen_ Richie was back in high school, senior year, before they all went their separate ways for college. There’s no way young, naive Eddie-in-denial could have seen the signs. He didn’t even like to admit his own gayness to himself as a general rule. Growing up in a small town in the 80’s really _did _fuck them all up – not even counting the damn clown, just the general mindset of everyone around them.

Come Sunday he is panicking but only slightly. There are three days left until he has to board the plane that will take him to face his second worst fear – his _emotions, _and he is _not_ happy about it. Alex, on the other hand, is ecstatic.

She titters around the apartment – that now has colourful throw pillows littering any seating surface available – excitedly, jotting down things to pack and making up possible scenarios for how everything will go down. He’s not sure but he thinks that she has approximately ten pages in Word of different scenes written down for him.

He just – he wants it to happen naturally but once he gets there and has a limited time frame, he knows he’ll either choke or go for it right off the bat. He just hopes that she’s right and that Richie really does _like_ him back. It feels stupid, being head-over-heels for someone you’ve barely remembered up until a couple of days ago but it makes sense. And he feels more like himself than he has in the past twenty years. In a weird way he feels like he’s stuck being eighteen, like he never got to grow up and grow out of some of his own issues, like he hadn’t gotten to develop a proper personality. Instead, he’s back to being a slightly neurotic manchild that rants for too long and far too often. And then they call _Richie _annoying.

To be fair, he’s done a lot of thinking and self-realising in the short time that he’s remembered his friends and been in this weird universe so he guesses that even though he still has some catching up to do mentally, he’s doing alright – all things considered.

“And do you _know_ how disgusting airports are? Do you know the amount of germs! You don’t! Nobody ever does! Nobody cares if you contract fucking dysentery because you touched the bathroom doorknob! Modern medicine can’t cure _everything!_ This place is making my skin crawl! Do you see this! That’s shit on the floor!”

“I’m pretty sure that’s mud but-”

“And all the kids! People bring kids here! Kids and pets are germ carrying machines! Might as well slap a sign on its forehead that says _biohazard!_ I need bleach and hand sanitizer, I need a shower and I need to take off at least three layers of skin. I fucking hate airports; couldn’t we have just gotten a boat or something?!” He snaps his jaw shut, blushing because Alessia is looking at him with an amused and _mocking_ expression on her face.

“To the _Maldives?”_ She raises an eyebrow.

“God! That’s another thing! He couldn’t have just had the wedding in, like, LA? Why the fuck does he care about white sand beaches and blue-ass water!?” He throws his hands up, almost sending his ticket and passport flying. He wishes he didn’t have to be here. He wishes airports didn’t make him as anxious as they do.

“Do you even think about everyone that’s ever sat in this seat? No? Of course not. They could have gone to the bathroom and wiped their ass with their bare hands, not washed, and then come back here leaving bacteria everywhere that whoever is in the seat next would then immediately contract. That’s disgusting, I think I might vomit.” He brings a hand to his face and then immediately darts it away, afraid of the diseases it might currently be carrying.

“I haven’t seen you this keyed up since we held a party in your dorm back in college. You spent an entire week stripping your dorm clean and then redoing it every day until I hid all of your cleaning supplies.” Alex hums and then does the unimaginable – she smoothes her hand over the tray in front of her, the handhold of her seat and the window and pops a finger into her mouth, licking it clean. “Mm, delicious.” She smacks her lips at him mockingly and he gags.

“I hate you. I actually hate you.” He moans, tugging out the hand sanitizer and doing his best to inconspicuously clean the immediate area around him.

“Hey, man, we’ve just met. I’ll give you plenty more reasons to hate me by the end of this trip why start so early?” She cackles when he whines in dismay, already regretting it a little.

“And god, baggage! They had their grubby hands all over my suitcase! They had other people’s suitcases touch mine. Who knows what they could be carrying? What if I get bedbugs?! What if someone’s STDs are somehow transferred to my clothes. What then? How would I-”

“I’m pretty sure you have to have sex to get an STD.”

“You don’t know that! What if I’m an exception?! What if I’m a freak accident-”

“Oh, you’re a freak alright...”

“And somehow manage to get it through the air?! Oh, my god, malaria! I don’t have anything against mosquitoes! What kind of poisonous creatures are around here?! What if I get stung by a jellyfish! What if a shark gets me? Is there shark-repellent?! I need to research this, I’m not ready for this damn weekend. I need to-”

“You need stop making a scene, Eds.” And oh, that’s not Alessia’s voice. “People are gonna start listening and _then_ where would we be?” That’s _definitely_ not Alessia’s voice.

“Well, maybe we’d be somewhere sterile and _safe_ for once, Trashmouth.” He shoots back automatically, finally looking up from his phone to see Richie standing there – broad shoulders, messy hair, thick glasses and all. Fuck. And once more with feeling, _fuck._

“Hi, Eds, missed you, too, Eds. How was the flight? It was good? Oh, that’s great to hear!” Richie does his usual spiel of being fucking annoying upon sight and then pulls Eddie in for a hug.

He almost drops his phone at the fierceness of it all – worst yet, he almost _clings_ to Richie. And – and why _shouldn’t_ he? He’s here to show affection, might as well start early. He wraps his arms around Richie’s torso and squeezes a wheezed laugh out of Richie like he’s a squeaky toy.

“God, I knew you were hitting the gym but please go easy on my old man bones.” Richie pats his back and the touch lingers more than it’s probably appropriate. And judging by Alex’s look of judgement, it seems that she’s noticed it as well.

He pulls back, smacking the taller in the chest heartily just to hear him wheeze again. “If you spent more time on your elliptical and lifting weights instead of burgers, you wouldn’t feel your ancient age.”

“Harsh. This is what I get for giving you this beautiful vacation opportunity.” Richie pouts at him and he hates that it’s still super effective.

He grunts, avoiding the other’s eyes for a moment. “Yeah, yeah. You remember Alessia, right? She’s my plus one for the wedding.”

“Good to see you again, man. No new special, no SNL appearances, no nothing? We thought you died!” She chirps happily despite the odd conflicted look on Richie’s face.

“Yeah – been busy with well, everything. And Stu wanted me to get some off time because shit’s been hectic and it’s better not to cause a media storm with an impromptu wedding and all.” Richie rubs the back of his head in a nervous gesture that Eddie’s familiar with.

Hm, that sentence doesn’t really sit well with Eddie. It’s – it’s almost like Richie is reluctant to divulge the information but he wonders for what reason. Eh, Eddie’s probably reading into it too much. Right?

“Impromptu? I thought this was all planned months ahead! I mean, this place must be booked for like, every day of the summer!” Alessia careens closer, peering up at Richie while leaning onto Eddie’s shoulder – purposefully trying to weasel information out of him and Eddie appreciates her efforts a lot.

“Oh, uh. I guess but it doesn’t really matter when you have a lot of money. But we hadn’t really announced the engagement publically either so he’s worried about the bad press if we’d suddenly emerged married. I cause a lot of drama on my own already, you know how it is in the world of Trashmouth Tozier.” The other’s lanky frame seems to shift and become smaller somehow and Eddie absolutely hates it – he hates this whole thing already and he hates Stuart most of all.

“You don’t cause _drama_.” He hisses, sounding very angry without meaning to let the anger slip. “You divide audiences because comedy is _subjective_. There’s no drama to it.” He snorts, trying to play it off as him being a fan rather than an offended, pining best friend.

Richie relaxes at his words some and Alex leans away from them, seemingly satisfied with the outcome of her inquiries. He watches as she hops over to baggage claim and picks up their bags.

He catches sight of Richie’s smile in his periphery and then turns back to him, humming in question.

“Just – real glad you’re here, man.” Richie pats his shoulder and Eddie’s heart clenches.

Truth be told he’d rather be _anywhere else_ but to be there he’d have to have Richie by his side – so by default he’s here where Richie is to try and get him by his side for the foreseeable future. It’s – it’s complicated.

But he can’t tell Richie that so he just nods. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

* * *

And because they’re currently in Colombo, Sri Lanka, they need to take an even smaller plane out to Male. It’s weird being next to Richie like this but Alex keeps them distracted both, asking questions that neither Richie nor Eddie could possibly have an answer to and then fighting with them about the answers.

The plane is supposed to land on one of the islands that are entirely a runway and it’s freaking Eddie out because what if the plane doesn’t land right and they end up in the water, trapped in the metal death-tube until they drown?

“Hey,” Richie reaches for his hand – the one gripping the armrest in a clinch that’s making his knuckles ache. “I’ve been on this plane before, it’s fine. They know what they’re doing.”

“_Statistically _speaking-”

“_Statistically-stamischtically, nothing.”_ Richie mocks him in a high-pitched voice. “More people die in car accidents yearly than in plane crashes. You know this. Sure, smaller planes are more likely to crash but – hey, stop that!” Richie smacks his hand out of his mouth where he was trying to chew straight through his nail. “That’s disgusting.”

“Never thought I’d hear those words come out of your trash mouth.” He sneers back, still panicking internally but having an easier time now that he’s bickering with Richie.

“I live to surprise you, Spaghetti Man.” Richie pushes his sunnies up his nose smartly and Eddie wants to knock them off his stupid handsome face. And then maybe kiss him on his stupid trash mouth. Ugh.

“Fuck off, don’t call me that.” He tugs his hand out of Richie’s hold because if he left it there any longer he’d do something stupid – like lace their fingers together.

“Come on, Ed. I know you hate flying – as you’ve stated very frequently, _every time._ But this is just a prelude to the crazy boat ride that’s to follow.” Alex points out the plane’s window and sure enough, there’re a couple of boats docked there prepared to take the passengers wherever they need to go.

“Oh, fuck.” He groans, closing his eyes and leaning back against the seat as Richie snickers next to him.

“Aw, Eddie-bear,” Alessia croons at him, leaning too close into his personal space. “You’re gonna be fine~” She pinches his cheek for emphasis and he glares at her. “We’ll hold your hands the entire time if you want.”

“Great, now I have to worry about contracting something from you two dirty hobos, too.” He shoots back and pushes her head away; smudging her glasses and gloating as she rushes to wipe them clean with a grumble.

“Come on, Eds, you’ll love it at the resort. Everything’s fucking magical and there’s nothing there to remind you of your boring office job in shitty Detroit.” Richie ruffles his immaculately styled hair and Eddie checks him with his shoulder, surprised when Richie whines in pain like a kicked dog. “God, you’re stupidly strong and I hate it.”

“Yeah, well, I love my abs so get used to it.” He smirks as Richie’s eyes grow wide and then dart down like he’ll be able to see the muscles through his polo shirt. He squints at the taller and _knows_ what’s coming before Richie’s hand even shoots towards his midsection. He flaps his arms and tries to pry Richie away but the annoying bastard’s got an iron grip on his shirt and as soon as Eddie pulls his hand up, his shirt untucks from his shorts and Richie’s palm smacks against his bare skin. He shudders at the warmth radiating off the taller’s hand and tries not to move too much as Richie pokes around.

“Holy shit!” The other’s head enters into his field of sight and he pushes his face away. “Come on, flex, I wanna see better!”

“The plane’s about to land, idiot, stop fucking molesting me!” He does, however, flex his abs because now that he has them he’s a shallow bastard that will use whatever he has to his advantage.

“I need some of your iron-chef discipline in my life, to be honest. Wish I could suddenly get shredded at our age.” Richie whines, pinching him and then pulling his hand back finally as an act of mercy.

_Well, you could, if you’d just marry me-_ He doesn’t say it, of course, but it doesn’t stop the bitter thought from circling around in his head. He tugs his shirt down, tucking it back in. He accidentally looks over to where Alex is sitting because she’s right next to the window and then almost flinches away physically at the accusing tilt of her eyebrows.

“Not a word,” He mumbles loud enough only for her to hear.

“I don’t need words, I only need pointed looks.” She responds smugly and then proceeds to put on a look that can only be described as a shit-eating grin akin to that of the Cheshire cat. He hates to admit it, but she’s right.

They disembark the plane and Richie takes their suitcases from them forcibly, wheeling the two large cases in front of him with confidence as they make their way towards one of the boats docked in the small marina. He watches the other hum to himself, looking at ease surrounded by nothing but blue water and pale sand. 

The sun’s concealed by some fluffy clouds and he thinks it’s for the best. He hasn’t put on his sunscreen yet and he doesn’t think he’d be able to handle Richie’s profile bathed in the sunlight shining like a gem. Both poetic _and_ pathetic, Eddie’s in quite the predicament.

“You look stupid.” Alex nudges him with a sharp elbow. “You got the mope-y eyes going on again. It’s dumb, you look dumb.”

“God, Eddie-from-here is gonna hate what I’ve allowed you to get away with.” He hisses, pulling out a pair of sunglasses and slipping them on to conceal his heart-eyes.

The boat is sturdy-looking but Eddie feels like he’s about to go down in an accident like those kids in_ Man of Medan. _He hopes that they don’t. Because he’s here on a mission, he’s here to win Richie back and if not then at least to let him know how he feels. Now, if there only was a right moment...

“Hey, Bitchie!” He shouts over the sound of the water and the boat.

“_Oh,_ haven’t heard that one in a while!” Richie claps his hands together excitedly, eyes sparkling with mirth. “What’s up, teddy-Eddie?”

“That’s the worst one yet, dick-for-brains.” He groans. “I was gonna ask if the others are here yet.”

“Oh, Bev and Ben took their yacht here – imagine that! Bill and Mike are picking up Stan in Bill’s fancy private jet so they’ll be here tomorrow probably.” Richie, who had to get closer to him so that he doesn’t have to shout, is too close to his face now.

He scrunches up his nose. “And we had to fly economy.”

“Not my fault you’re cheap!” Richie flicks his nose just to be annoying and he swats him away.

“It’s how you stay wealthy! Haven’t you heard? Not everyone wastes money on ridiculous wedding locations like _some _do.” He pushes the other away, unable to bear the attention without blushing and – as pale as he is, it would show on his face like a red traffic light and he doesn’t need that.

“Aw, come on, Eds. You only get married once!” Richie croons, throwing an arm around his shoulders cheerily.

“Factually incorrect.” He grunts, “Where’s the other groom anyway? Or is he the bride? Are _you_ the bride?”

“Hell yeah I am! I’ll be wearing a breezy summer number in white lace and sunflowers on my head, daisies woven into my curls.” Richie waves his free arm around like he’s trying to paint him a picture and Eddie _really_ doesn’t need that. Because _he’s _not marrying Richie so _he_ doesn’t get to be the groom and that sucks _major_ ass.

“Damn, I should just turn back now before I’m scarred for life.” He grins at the other sharply, refusing to let his fondness show.

“Aw, come on, Eds, you know I have great legs.” As to prove his point, Richie lifts one of his mile-long legs up and stretches it en-point.

“Woah, Rich-man, you got some calves on you!” Alex pipes up to save Eddie the embarrassment of choking on his words, smacking a hand against Richie’s knee loudly and making him yelp. It seems as though Alessia is doing to Richie whatever he’s trying to do to Eddie and it makes him feel all warm to have her in his corner. “You sure you’re not a dancer?!” She seems excited to poke and prod, give Richie a taste of his own medicine and he’s extremely glad he’s brought her along.

“Me? You’re kidding! I’m a ragdoll on the dance floor and an elephant in a china shop! If anyone’s the Tiny Dancer here then it’s Eddie!” Richie, undeterred and determined, pinches his cheek.

“Knock it off, asshole.” He smacks Richie on the forehead and the other cranes his head back, laughing loudly and cheerfully and _god,_ Eddie’s missed his laughter so much. It’s so loud and obnoxious and unmistakably Richie that he’d be able to pick it out in a crowd doing a laugh track.

“Well, he _is_ tiny but I don’t know about the ‘_dancer’_ part.” Alex sticks her tongue out at him and he mentally takes back all the nice things he’s thought about her in the past ten minutes. Betrayal.

“I’ll have you know I can _tear it up_ at the club.” He puffs out his chest, sticking his tongue out at Alessia with all his might.

“Oh, you mean you can keep _crying_ in the club?” She flips him off and he gasps.

“That was _one_ time!” He screeches back at her, scandalized. “And I was drunk and it was my favourite Led Zeppelin song playing!”

“Aw, a baby!” She reaches over Richie and pinches his nose – he lets her get away with it because she’s his _new_ friend and he can’t fight her on everything _just yet_.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.” He grumbles and fixes his sunnies. He turns his gaze to Richie who’s got a weird frown oncoming that’s wrinkling the space between his eyebrows unattractively (a _lie_). He wonders what that’s about but decides not to be bothered by it too much.

“Something’s different.” Richie blurts out, startling him and Alex into tense silence.

They share a look through the tinted lenses of their sunglasses and Eddie gulps heavily. “What do you mean?” He tilts his head innocently, thankful that he doesn’t have to meet Richie’s eyes head-on.

“You’re-” Richie waves a hand in a circle around his face. “Relaxed? You’re less of a dick than usual and you’re not snapping at Alessia like the last time she hung out with us.”

“Wow, how dare you accuse me of _not_ being a dick, that’s the only thing I have going for me!” He exclaims theatrically to distract Richie from the fact that he’s not Eddie-from-here.

“That and the abs!” Alex throws in with a snap of her fingers and a chuckle.

Richie laughs, too, but it’s subdued and silent compared to his real laughter or even his pity chuckles. It rubs Eddie the wrong way entirely and he can’t help but feel like he’d somehow done something wrong. Which is stupid because he most certainly _hasn’t._

“Did something, like – happen?” Richie tries again and then clarifies by pointing to him and Alessia and making a crude gesture with his fingers.

Alessia bursts out in laughter while Eddie grows silent. This – this is as good a chance as any but he doesn’t think Richie would handle it well. But he’s already suspicious so he might – he might do what he did with Terrance, admit to a lesser change to avoid suspicion indefinitely.

“Uh, actually.” He tugs at the hem of his shorts, unsure about how to continue. “I was hoping I’d get to tell you somewhere less loud but I guess now’s good.”

When he lifts his gaze Richie looks like he might throw up. Well, exaggerated – but he _does_ look a little pale. So he clears his throat and braves it like he did with that fucking clown. He hopes he doesn’t get impaled this time though. He looks around the boat for any sharp objects and deems it safe enough.

“Some things _have_ happened recently – let’s call it a mental breakdown that lead to me having a very belated epiphany that. Uh. Well, it’s not like I didn’t know, I’ve just been really good at not thinking about it and ignoring that part of me. I’m rambling, shit.” He rubs a hand over his face and knocks his glasses askew. He fixes them before trying again. “Richie, get me a club jacket because I’m as queer as they come.”

It’s silent for the whole of five seconds before Richie bursts out in an excited yell, gathering him up in an overly enthusiastic hug that he can’t help but question with a look directed to Alex – who just shrugs back at him uselessly. But – but this is good. This is him, sharing something with Richie, that will show him that he has a chance if he wants to be with Eddie. If Eddie’s presumed straightness was what was keeping him at bay then this should set his ships adrift.

“That’s! Eds! Wow, I’m like, super proud of you! For admitting it, for accepting it! I know you’ve always been supportive but it’s – you’re accepting a part of yourself and that’s what’s important.” Richie rushes out, hands holding onto his shoulders as he pulls back – a giant grin on his face. Gross, Eddie loves him.

“I – yeah. It’s been a weird couple of days and a weird journey in general but – I’m 40 years old so I guess it was about time, you know?” He smiles, happy that Richie is so excited about the news even though he’s so nervous he could vomit. Or maybe that’s the seasickness. It’s probably both.

“That’s – no time like the present, Spaghetti Man. I’m happy you told me.” Richie puts both of his wide palms on his cheeks and squeezes his face. “Welcome to the club, baby!”

“Ew, don’t call me that.” But this time, for a change, he lets Richie smush his face all he wants because – he’s trying to _be better_ or whatever.

“But you’re my favourite Italian!” Richie croons and this time Eddie _does_ smack his hands away.

“I’m not even Italian! Fuck off!” He complains, looking to Alessia who is very much an Italian goddess in her own right, for an easy escape.

“Eddie, I hate to say it but you _are_ a_ fusill_.” She pronounces it as _fossil_ as to indicate his age which is stupid because they’re practically the same age. It’s not his fault that you can’t really see it on her.

“That was bad and you should feel bad.” He sniffs indignantly.

“Hey, it’s not like I can compete with mister comedian over here but I will sure as hell try my best.” She states proudly, saluting no one in particular.

“Don’t think you’ll have to try very hard, it’s not like he writes his own material.” He grins brightly at the offended gasp that leaves Richie’s gaping mouth.

“Take that back!” Richie whines, making dangerous movements like he’ll try and toss Eddie overboard. Uh-oh._ Oh, no_.

“Never! Your specials aren’t funny, Trashmouth!” He cackles evilly – so much for trying to be nice.

“That’s it! You’re uninvited!” Richie screeches and _launches_ all of his _six feet and some change_ at Eddie’s tiny frame.

There’s shouting and wrestling on a moving boat, Alex laughing in the background and possibly filming them. There’s Richie trying to pull Eddie’s pants down as revenge and _Richie, if you wanted to see my dick all you had to do was ask_ and _I already know what it looks like because you’re a dickhead!_

The boat slows to a stop with a jerk, unexpected and with the perfect comedic timing as Eddie is pushing Richie against the side railing. The taller teeters dangerously, eyes wide and a hand outstretched towards Eddie in a silent plea. But Eddie’s still a dick deep down inside and he doesn’t miss an opportunity to show it.

He reaches for the hand and presses his index finger against Richie’s, applying enough pressure to tip him over backwards into the blue-ass water. The taller goes down with a majestic flail and a big splash that catches Alex who was too close to the scene of the crime, laughing her ass off with her phone pointed their way. The boat captain shoots them a concerned look but doesn’t comment on the lack of a passenger which is – worrying.

He leans over the side to check where Richie is and why he isn’t surfacing only to be surprised as the man in question literally jumps out of the water like a majestic fucking mermaid and _pulls him in_ like he weighs nothing more than a few pounds.

The water is lukewarm and kinda feels like piss and is very salty. He takes some of it in before remembering that he’s not supposed to. He blinks his eyes open, grateful that his sunnies had been knocked off his face earlier in the scuffle because he can now take Richie floating there in front of him in all his glory in fully.

The other’s cheeks are puffed out and he’s flipping Eddie off with vengeance. He just grins back and kicks away, makes bubbles appear all around them and makes Richie chase after him as he swims off. And it really _is_ beautiful. The water is so clear that he thinks he’s not even under it. There are fishes of all sorts, colourful and not, surrounding them everywhere he looks and he can see a coral reef in the distance bustling with sea life. 

A hand grabs his ankle and he’s almost forgotten that he’s supposed to be running – _swimming – _away from Richie’s immediate grasp. Oh well. He kicks about until he’s turned around and facing Richie fully. They should probably surface for air but he feels like that’d ruin the moment. And he’s not thinking that just because he’s so close to Richie’s face all of a sudden. No. Definitely not. And Richie’s still got his stupid prescription sunglasses on because he’s as blind as a bat and he looks like a dickbag but god, Eddie really wants to fucking kiss him. But what he ends up doing is flicking the other’s nose and swimming upwards swiftly because his lungs are starting to protest loudly.

He gulps in air once he’s on the surface again, heavy breaths and coughing out water – not the most attractive way to emerge from the depths but then again he’s not one of those models or a Bond girl to make it look good. 

“God!” Richie splutters once he’s out, too. “You are such a little prick, I can’t take you anywhere!”

_You can take me anywhere, you just have to ask_ – the joke is on the tip of his tongue but somehow he doesn’t think Eddie-from-here would be comfortable making it so he keeps it to himself. It’s – well, it was only a half-joke anyway.

“New playground, new rules!” He shoots back, splashing Richie and then turning towards the boat that’s now docked at the little pier at the end of a board walk. “Race you to the pier!” He challenges and then they’re off.

Richie was never one to back down from a challenge and neither was Eddie. So they fight tooth and nail to be the first to the damn pier. They cheat, they lie and they scrap the entire way there and Eddie doesn’t even care that his clothes are wet and that he could get stung by a jellyfish and _die _because it’s _fun_ – he’s having fun_._

Richie beats him by a small margin because his limbs are long and his hands are like paddles. So it wasn’t even a fair race to begin with. Whatever, he’s not bitter about it. Really. Because it was fun and now he gets the privilege – the _punishment_ of being carried down the boardwalk over Richie’s shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

“I _thought_ that was you screaming, Kaspbrak!” He hears Beverly’s voice before he sees her. Mostly because he can’t really see anything other than Richie’s ass and his annoying avocado patterned shirt.

“You been hearing lots of his screams huh, Bevs?” Richie – much to his humiliation – smacks one of his thighs and jostles him up a little to secure his hold. Eddie tries not to let it get to him _in that way_ but – he’s only human.

“Let me down, you caveman, I have to give the love of my life a hug!” He does the same and smacks his open palm against the wet fabric of Richie’s lower back, causing the other to yelp from the sting.

“Aw, Eddie! I thought _I _was the love of your life!” Alex complains from somewhere up ahead and Richie gasps in mock offense again.

“I thought that was _me!?”_

_Wow, hit the nail on the head with that one, Rich_. He sighs mentally, trying to come up with something else witty to stay so that he doesn’t give himself away just yet.

“You’re all wrong. The love of my life is Sebastian Stan and none of you fucker compare.” He blurts out without really thinking about it and then mentally smacks himself when he realizes that Bev and Ben (only Ben, really) don’t know about the _gay_ thing yet. Well, that’s one way of coming out, he supposes.

“Rich, turn me around.” He waits patiently for the taller to manoeuvre them so that he’s lifting his head and looking at Beverly and Ben who are standing there and looking at them a little wide-eyed. “Um, surprise? I’m queer?” 

“Huh,” Beverly brings a hand up to her chin, tapping at her bottom lip as if in thought – and _oh, that’s right,_ Beverly’s known the truth all along but she doesn’t want to let on that she did. “Well – I’m sure you planned on telling us _all_ differently but – we’re glad that you told us anyway.”

“Or – were planning to tell us without blurting it out like that.” Ben amends with a sweet smile on his handsome face.

“Aw,” He finds himself saying, genuine gratitude in his heart. But, really, what did he expect? They’re the Losers, they stuck together through thick and thin, of course they’d accept him for who he is. “You guys are the best.” He grins and smacks Richie on the back again. “Down, slave.”

“Kinky.” Richie giggles immaturely and he pinches him again for good measure.

“Glad you could make it.” Beverly says with _meaning_ in her tone and he nods, lets her pull him into a crushing hug. “We’ll talk later.” She hushes into his ear as she lets him be huddled closer to Ben who gives him a hearty slap on the back.

“Alessia, good to see you again.” Beverly shakes hands with Alex and they do this weird sort of dance with their eyes and eyebrows where they have an entire conversation in the span of thirty seconds that it takes them to break the handshake. The two of them nod to each other and then disengage like nothing happened.

“Well, now that we’re done standing around on this beautiful deck – let us converge in the main lodge for a meal.” Richie waves his hand with an exaggerated movement to the biggest cabin in the little above-water village resort.

Behind the cabin is what looks like a sandy island with beaches and chairs and some palm trees sticking out of said sand. There are people milling around as well but everyone’s minding their own business and nobody looks like they’re even remotely bothered about them screaming bloody murder in the middle of the day.

“You need to change first, you’re soaked.” Beverly tutts at them and then points to one of the cabins on the right. “That’s yours and Alex’s, your suitcases are already there. Once you’re done, we’ll converge here and head for the yacht. We can cook something together there instead of trying to fit you two big personalities into a quiet restaurant.” She then points off into the distance, the other side of the small island where a large yacht is parked. Damn, nice.

“Nice.” Alessia nods, “Come on, Little Mermaid, time to put on your big boy pants.”

“What’s wrong with my shorts?!” He looks down at the beige coloured shorts he’s wearing that are currently soaked through from the impromptu swim.

“All you’re lacking are the sensible loafers for it to be the _‘I do golf on the weekend and spit on the poor’_ look.” Richie adds his own two cents and Eddie is so close to just stomping onto his foot to teach him not to wear flip-flops in his vicinity. 

“Coming from someone who looks like he’s trying to fit into a _creative writing class_ with a bunch of 20-year-olds, that doesn’t mean much.” He glares back at the taller, not letting the beautiful view of Richie’s bright grin deter him.

“Touché.” Richie laughs because that’s how they are. They sling insults at each other left and right but never take it to heart despite some of them being _very_ nasty. But – he’d never actually insult Richie and mean it. He loves the other’s shitty sense of style because it’s _Richie; _he loves his stupid glasses and his square head. God, he’s been an idiot for so long. And he’s _trying_ to rectify this, he really is. But being next to Richie, being the object of his focus, it’s difficult and he finds himself falling back into old habits too easily.

“I think I need one of those shock collars.” He says, unfortunately out loud, once they’re in their allotted apartment – which is, just wild.

“Kinky.” Alex hums, looking around in wide-eyed wonder. “Ugh. One bed.” She rolls her eyes. “Why the collar?”

“To stop me from saying stupid shit and being an asshole to Richie.” He looks at the large California King bed and then to the plain-looking white couch on the right side of the room. “I’ll take the couch.”

“Don’t be stupid, we can share. You know, _oh my god, they were roommates.”_ She winks at him exaggeratedly and he snort even though he doesn’t understand the reference.

“I don’t know; I kick around a lot during the night.” He doesn’t – he doesn’t necessarily feel awkward about it but he’s still a little unsure she’d want to share.

“Is this because I’m a woman? Is this sexism?” She chuckles at her own bad joke and plops down onto the bed, face first. “Also, I’m a lesbian.”

“Wow, you didn’t think it’d be important to let me know this before now?” He pauses, looking at her a little bewildered.

“I forgot you didn’t know. Eddie-from-here knows so I just assumed. Terrance knows, too but he still thinks Eddie and I are platonic soulmates with a lot of _UST_.” She sighs, waving her hand around. “He’s old, you have to excuse him. He means well.”

He snorts, it’s – it’s not his business what Eddie-from-here has been up to in his own time. But – well, he can see how Eddie-from-here would be platonic soulmates with her. In a lot of ways, they’re very alike. Eddie, _him now_, gets along with her swimmingly, too. He thinks she also needed someone to help her relax and this mix of Eddies had made that possible. He hopes that Eddie-from-here is somewhere looking down at them and taking notes.

Really, all the planets have aligned for Eddie to come here and say his part, tell Richie how he feels, help Alessia and Eddie-from-here become better friends without the underlying tension that those around them misinterpret. Because Eddie knows himself, he knows that whatever Alex hat tried to get him to talk about his feelings had always definitely caused a rift between them despite their long-standing friendship.

But things are better now. He wishes he could have seen how things were before he’d dropped in to fiddle around in this universe. But from the treatment on that first morning, he can take a calculated risk and guess that things were a little icier than they should have been between two roommates-slash-business partners who’ve known each other for that long.

“Alright, guess we’re sharing then.” He finally concedes.

“Good, glad we could reach this agreement, Mr. Kaspbrak.” She reaches up and flips him off.

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, well, Miss Martinelli, you make a compelling case.”

“Come on, get dry, get dressed and let’s go get your beanpole boyfriend to realize he’s irrevocably in love with you already.” She bounces back up and springs from the bed, an endless well of energy despite her age making her knees pop.

“God, don’t let them hear you.” He tugs off his shirt and tosses it carelessly onto the floor. “What was that weird eyebrow dance you did with Beverly anyway?”

“Oh, she wanted to know if you were her to do what you’re here to do so I helpfully let her know that you are and that you’re an idiot for waiting this long. She agrees, by the way. She’s super cool.” Alessia elaborates, picking up his shirt and tossing it back at his face.

He grunts and takes it to the bathroom to hang it somewhere so that it dries. “You got all that from just a couple of eyebrow raises? Women are impressive.” He admits absentmindedly. He’s always admired Beverly for being brave.

_Yet you never cared much for your own bravery,_ a voice that sounds too much like Richie pipes up in the back of his head and he shakes the thoughts away.

“Glad we agree on yet another thing, Edward!” Alessia says cheerfully and he snorts, yeah. Fair.

He enters the bathroom and prepares mentally for the gruelling process of surviving yet another dinner with Richie at his side. He hopes Stuart won’t be there. And even if he is, he’s sure that Alex will make it her personal mission to defend his honour by insulting the opponent with refined finesse.

Either that or she’ll just call him a motherfucker to his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: I keep writing it as Eddie saying that he's queer because while he knows he's gay, (so dubbed) Eddie-from-here has slept with women and probably enjoyed it and he's trying to respect Eddie-from-here's identity


	3. That's a Lot of Damage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am,,, back. Honestly, these two are such fun to write and im glad y'all are liking the story so far! I've got the rest of it outlined and i should be able to finish it sometime in the next couple of weeks

Well, it seems as though the universe is once again on Eddie’s side – and all it took was for him to _die_ and then come to a whole other universe entirely for that to happen – because Stuart is nowhere to be seen when they meet up at the main building to head over to the yacht.

He thinks about voicing his concerns but Alessia beats him to it, sliding in between Ben and Richie and pretending to look around critically.

“So, like, where’s the lucky gentleman that gets to hear your shitty jokes for the rest of his life?” Her grin is sharp enough to cut and it, frankly, frightens Eddie a little.

“Oh!” Richie seems to falter as he looks down at her with a sheepish smile. “He’s arriving a day before the wedding. He got held up at the company.”

“Hm, I mean.” Alex waves a hand around to Ben, Bev and Eddie. “If these people could make time to be here a couple of days before your wedding and I’m sure they’re all super busy, it seems a little odd that the other groom couldn’t do the same.”

Much like a swooping eagle snatches the rabbit by the neck and flies off with it, happy to be eating good tonight, Alex extracts herself from the conversation, carelessly marching on to where Beverly is leading the way.

“Wow, no prisoners.” Eddie hears Ben mutter under his breath before clearing his throat very deliberately.

“I feel like I’m missing something.” Richie frowns, one corner of his mouth lifting up in distaste.

“Nah, you’re fine.” Ben pats his back and Eddie wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all. But Alex is right, even Stan and his wife? Is he married here? Is Bill?

“Did you hear from Bill and the others?” He decides that switching topics would be for the best.

“Oh, yeah! Bill says they’ll be landing at the strip around 8 a.m. so I’ll take the boat out and go get them before breakfast and we can do food at either the yacht or the lodge.” Richie, seemingly relieved that the conversation’s moved on, provides happily.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask.” Ben interjects and _oh, no._ “How many people will be there? Like, this is a pretty exotic location so I’ve been concerned over the logistics of it.”

Ben, bless his heart, means well but god now they’re back at the wedding topic that Richie obviously wants to avoid for whatever reason.

“Ah, you guys and some of my comedy friends are gonna be there for me but most of the other people are from Stu’s side. His sister Karina insisted we did a summer vacation so Devon, her husband, got us the date at the resort a couple of islands over. I think there’ll be like thirty people in total? Maybe less, depending on which business buddies Stu’s invited.”

Richie, for all his confidence and false bravado, looks _unsure_ talking about the wedding. He looks like he’s talking about some formal dinner or the Oscars instead of what’s supposed to be the happiest day of his life.

Eddie wants to gather him up in a hug and never let him go. And if it all goes according to plan then he’ll get to do just that.

“What’s wrong with a civil ceremony and then getting smashed at a club? All you rich people.” Eddie waves a hand around, making his voice pitch annoyingly just to get Richie to laugh.

“God, that sounds like a _dream_.” Richie groans, head thrown back. “But – you know, _in-laws._”

Ben shrugs at that. “I don’t know. Bev’s aunt and uncle were always pretty chill with whatever we decided. They just let us do what made us happy. And you guys were there in Las Vegas with us. I know people say eloping is trashy but honestly, that and the casinos after was probably the best wedding I’d ever been to. And I’m not just saying that because it was my own.” The handsome devil laughs sweetly and Eddie can’t help but grin at him. That sounds great, he hopes they all had fun.

“If anything, I thought Richie would be the one eloping with some groupie and not inviting any of us to the wedding because he forgot he had friends.” He pokes Richie in the ribs and the other squirms away.

“Damn, if it were up to me – you and I would have eloped ages ago!” Richie bursts out and while his laughter seems genuine, Eddie sees the way his shoulders shake differently than the rest of his laughing body.

Oh, he thinks. _Oh. _

“Fuck you, Tozier, I’m not one of your groupies! I keep telling you, you’re not funny!” He blurts out in a bout of panic.

Oh, he thinks, _oh no, not this again. _Fuck him and his fucking brain to mouth filter that always decides to throw away all of the good things he has to say.

“Yes, you’re obviously marrying me for my good looks and my receding hairline.” Richie puffs out his chest proudly, his salmon colored shirt going tight around his biceps – damn it.

“You better get good at humour sometime soon because once you’re bald that’s all you’ll have left.” He rounds Ben, hiding from Richie’s flailing limbs that try to smack the grin off his face and fail miserably.

“Come back here and say that to my face – if you can reach it!” Richie shouts at him, drawing the attention of other occupants that are scattered across the beach minding their own business.

“Height jokes are getting old, but I guess it’s only fair since so are you.” He shoots back, flipping the taller off.

Poor Ben who’s been trapped between the two bickering man-children chuckles at that one as well. “Come on guys, why do you always cause a scene?”

“It’s who we are!” Richie puts the back of his hand to his forehead and dramatically bends back into Ben’s side.

“The world is our oyster!” He adds, “What’s that thing Shakespeare used to say? _All the world’s a stage!_”

“These unbelievably lucky passersby are the audience that get to witness our show!” Richie does a twirl in the sand and then bows deeply and exaggeratedly.

Eddie, pleased and happy for once, claps at him loudly. “Bravo! Bravo!”

“Kids.” Ben chuckles fondly, steering them to hurry up and get to the yacht where Beverly and Alex are already waiting.

* * *

The yacht is well- it’s a yacht. It’s big and luxurious and even if Eddie-from-here had already seen it or been on various other yachts, Eddie-from-the-cave that’s had the same job in New York for the last twelve years had only seen yachts in movies and on vacations.

They gather around the kitchen and Ben and Bev toss around groceries, cooking together with an ease that comes to those who have been together for a long, long time. It makes sense that they would cook together, they do everything together anyway and they’re good at it. They work together like a well-oiled machine and they’re constantly aware of where the other is. Sometimes, Bev doesn’t even need to say it before Ben is already passing her the needed utensil or spice.

He’s – well, not jealous exactly but he’s _envious_. He knows him and Richie have always been aware of each other and have been able to communicate without saying anything but he’s always refused to admit that it meant anything more than just them being best friends. Even though Stan and Bill have also been their best friends for just as long and it was never like that with them.

He was stupid. He still is, really. But at least he’s trying now. How easily the _never_ had changed in to _I have to tell him, it’s now or never._

“God! I don’t think I’ve told you about this one, guys!” Richie smacks a hand down against the solid table that they’re seated at. The surface rattles a little but the food and drinks remain in their holders, thankfully. “When I was starting out, I had this gig booked, right.”

Eddie watches him speak, his face is animated and his glasses bounce up and down his nose as he gets excited. It’s – endearing, he’s endlessly endeared and it’s high time he admits it. He wonders how he and Stuart met. How did someone as uptight meet someone like Richie who lived to make people laugh and soaked up the atmosphere like an empathetic sponge? He can’t really ask, because he doesn’t know if he was there for it or if he heard the story before so it would be weird. Maybe he could weasel it out of Beverly later or something. Maybe he could even tell her the truth – she was always the most insightful of them all here and he doubts Alex knows.

“And I get to this place and I’m like – it’s a little shady but you can’t really pick and choose when you’re just starting out, you know.” Richie takes a sip of his wine, grinning at his audience brightly. Maybe the Richie of this universe – who is his Richie because every Richie is his Richie or so it seems – writes his own jokes, has had better luck with creativity since they hadn’t faced Pennywise.

“But when I walk in – and, really, the neon sign outside saying _GUSH_ in big red letters should have been my first warning – I walk in and it’s a _strip club_ because of course it is. One of my first gigs and it’s got naked women dancing on every available surface!” Richie cackles along with everyone at the table, enraptured by another one of his hijinks. And it’s so easy to love him, so easy to get swept up in his voices and his humour and his way of telling a story – it’s no fucking wonder that whoever this Stuart guy is fell for Richie and was actually brave to tell him. If – if that’s the case. God, he hopes Richie isn’t settling just because Eddie-from-here was a giant dick.

There is the possibility that Richie is actually happy with Stuart and marrying him out of love, of course. In that case, Eddie will take the L after he confesses with pride, knowing he’d done what he was sent here to do. God, he sounds like the Terminator and not someone who’s working up to confessing his gay-ass feelings for his best friend.

“You can imagine how the night went! I’m set to go first and they set me up on the main stage. But the women don’t stop dancing! Which – I’m sure the patrons enjoyed but, like, I’m supposed to go up there and do a bit about _Dateline_ and do my _Keith Morrison_ impression but there are half naked ladies dancing on either side of me! And nobody wants to hear Keith Morrison at a strip club! Talk about a boner killer! Nobody wanted to stare at a lanky 20-year-old with a flat chest tell morbid jokes when the busty beauties bounced about!” Richie pushes the glasses up the bridge of his nose, smiling crookedly as Beverly chokes on her soda.

“_N’yeees, and what happened then? Oh, are the boobies distracting you fine gentlemen? I hope none of you – snap.” _He does the impression, setting the table off on another round of giggles and laughs.

“Everyone who had sets that night bombed super hard so I wasn’t worried about it but god. Was it a blow to my ego? It sure was. But hey, I got a complementary lap dance – that, obviously, did nothing but I got to test my _John Malkovich _impression on her and your mom laughed super hard, Eds!” Richie tips his glass towards him and he throws his head back, a long groan leaving his throat. Of course. _Of course._

“I am going to stab you with this fork, I swear!” He points the fairly sharp utensil at the taller man, glaring more for show than genuinely meaning it because, once again, he’s _fond_.

“Oh, I’d rather you stab me with something _else_, handsome.” Richie leans forward, one hand under his chin and winks saucily at him. And – and his voice is low, hushed and soft in a way Eddie hasn’t heard it before. It’s odd and alluring enough that it makes his gut clench and his cheeks flare.

“That’s it! Murder time!” He jolts out of his seat, intending to accost Richie, but Alessia – the angel that she is – tugs him back down by the shoulders.

“Whoa there, _stabbo-crabbo,_ at least wait till after the wedding. That way they’ll suspect the spouse first.” She says smartly, tilting her head down and letting her round frames slide down her nose as she grins.

“_Ooooh, a fascinating plan, Miss Martinelli, what happens then?”_ Richie contorts his face in a way that makes him look both sinister and delighted and Beverly boos him, throwing a piece of bread across the table.

“No, no. A good craftsman never gives away the secrets of their trade.” She leans back in her chair, looking far too comfortable for someone who’s discussing premeditated murder.

“Why do I hang out with you people?” Ben laments sadly, taking a timid sip from his bottle of water.

“Awh,” Beverly croons at the same time that Richie does, too. They both lean in and kiss each of Ben’s cheeks, causing an unexpected blush to rise on the man’s face.

“_Guys,”_ Ben chokes out, surprisingly embarrassed.

“You know you love us, Benjamin.” Richie pinches his cheek like he’s not a grown man with a chiselled face and Eddie is still so damn endeared he feels like it’s bursting out of his ears.

“You’re all _heart-eyes _again.” Alex whispers, leaning into his side and pressing the words into his cheek with a bright grin.

“Fuck off,” He grunts silently and tries to get his features back under control. He can’t let it slip before the right fucking moment rears its damn head around. If only it would hurry up, though.

* * *

Beverly corners him after all of the food’s been eaten and Ben has engaged Alessia and Richie in some conversation about something business related that Richie just hums in acknowledgement of. They’re all fairly tipsy and filled with good food so Eddie, lest he blurt out something that she shouldn’t, decides to go out onto to the deck for some air.

So that’s where Beverly finds him; leaned on the railing with his chin on his arms, watching the clear water glimmer under the stars. The reflection is amazing and it’s safer to look at the water than the sky because he gets dizzy way too easily.

“Your cooking’s gotten better.” He tells her like he’s tried it before and she snorts.

“Ben had us take lessons a while back when I complained everything that we cooked tasted the same.” She admits, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “So you have him to thank for that.”

“I’ll make sure to send him my regards.” He turns to look at her fully, straightening up because he senses _the talk_ coming. “Well, go on then. Shoot your shot.”

“Very observant of you, Eddie, unusually so.” She pokes his cheek, right in the dimple and he rolls his eyes.

“I found that when I'm _not_ being a dickhead, I can be pretty perceptive.” He shrugs, leaning his hip against the side of the boat and crossing his arms over his chest.

“I talked to Alessia,” Bev pauses, tilting her head. “Well – more or less.” She chuckles and he snorts because, yeah, _meaningful looks_ weren’t exactly talks.

“What’d she intone with her eyebrows, then?” He grips himself harder, preparing for the words to be spoken out loud.

Beverly glances back over to the yacht where Richie has found chopsticks and is now using them to make himself look like a walrus – an idiot, really. She laughs quietly before turning back to him. “You’re really here to do it, then?”

“Make it or break it, baby.” He chuckles bitterly, hating the bile that rises in his throat at the thought of _breaking it._ “Now or never, you know how it goes. I know my timing is shitty but... what can you do?”

Beverly nods, stepping in closer to him, a hand on his crossed arms. “I'm – I don't know what happened or what got through your thick skull but I'm glad. He’s...” She sighs meaningfully, eyes all sad in a way that Eddie’s never liked seeing them. She was always their fire, the most spiteful and the bravest right next to Bill. The look of sorrow never belonged on her face and it always made Eddie ache to see her suffer. He’s glad that she has it good now, at least in this universe.

“Richie’s a darling, you know this. He’s a people-pleaser and he lets himself be pushed around if it so fit others who are not_ tuned in to his frequency._ And you know how Stuart is – pushy with a mean streak. A man used to getting what he wants. And Rich – he so rarely gets what _he_ wants and now he never may.” She shakes her head forlornly, her amber hair falling out of the messy bun. “You gotta save him, Eddie, he would never listen to the rest of us.”

“Have you tried?” He asks – genuinely curious because he really doesn’t know. He doesn’t mean for it to come across as him doubting his friends – it’s just that, well, he’s still not Eddie-from-here.

She grunts, turning towards the water. “Back when they started dating. I tried talking to him but he brushed me off. I don't think Richie thought they were going to go on for as long as they have but – we were all already 37 by that point and I guess he got tired of being alone... of _waiting.” _

_Ouch. _He rubs at his chest, right over his heart, as the words sting him. Back home, back in his own little Pennywise-infested universe, there was a reason that he’d never told Richie. When they were kids it was the eighties, they would have been clobbered to death and he’d always thought that Richie would hate him for it. And then they’d forgotten and now he was lying on the cold clown-cave floor and dying. Those are some pretty good excuses in his book.

But here? Here where they all went their separate ways and remained friends over the years, Eddie-from-here has no fucking excuse. He can only imagine the pain he’d caused and the suffering they’d both gone through. It’s no wonder Richie didn’t wait for him forever. He can’t really blame him.

Oh, wow, ruining Richie’s one chance at happiness suddenly seems selfish and dickish.

“Maybe I shouldn’t.” He swallows around the lump in his throat. “If he’s happy, if he can be happy with Stuart, then who am I to suddenly barge in and break things up?”

“Eddie,” Beverly turns her alarmed eyes to him.

“No, listen.” He leans over the railing, afraid that he’ll be sick. “He’s waited for me to get my head out of my ass for decades, Bev, and now that things are – that I'm not who I was before... what gives me the right to take his chances away?”

“Oh, Eddie, sweetie.” She crowds closer to him, running a comforting hand along his back. “I think you and I both know that he won’t be truly happy with anyone but you.”

He scoffs, grimacing at the bit of snot that makes it out of his nose at the action. “That’s a little presumptuous, don't you think?”

“You know it to be true.” She runs the hand up his back and in his hair, ruffling it affectionately. “If it makes you feel better, you can talk to Stan tomorrow. I'm sure he’ll say the same thing but I know you’ve always been fond of second opinions.”

He leans back and pulls her into a hug, “Thanks, Bev.”

“Anything for my favourite Losers.” She mumbles into his shoulder, squeezing him back. “Now come on before he breaks my boat in half.”

He chuckles, thinking about a cartoonish rendering of Richie sawing a boat in half with a giant chainsaw. Ridiculous but entirely possible in some far-off universe.

* * *

Eddie was woken up by some loud and rambunctious banter early in the morning the very next day. Well, early was a relative term since it was about eleven and it constituted as brunch time. Was it brunch if he never got up to have breakfast?

Oh, the noise. Right.

He jumps out of bed, recognizing the ruckus like he had been hearing it every day for the past 20-something years and not like he’d forgotten it for the same amount of time. He jostles Alex as he clambers over her since she’s the closest to the closet and winces as she kicks him in the shin for his efforts. He slides open the closet and quickly throws on a pair of cotton shorts and a tee with some whacky logo on it.

He’s out the door before Alex can finish cursing him out for waking her up unnecessarily.

He’s momentarily blinded by the bright sun outside, shining directly onto his face. He grunts putting a hand up and turning to look at the little area in front of the main lodge. Sure enough, Stan, Bill and Mike were there all accompanied by – well, their wives??

He pushes down the anxiety as Alex joins him in his standing at the doorstep. He doesn’t know their names. Fuck he doesn’t know – he knows Patricia and he thinks that Bill’s wife’s name is something with an A but who the hell is that with Mike?

Alex leans into him from the back, hooking her chin over his shoulder and shoving a phone in his face from underneath. “William Denbrough’s spouse’s name is Audra in case you were wondering.”

“God, you’re a life saver.” He pushes the phone away and heads for the gathering of chattering adults, hoping Alex somehow takes the hint and tails him.

“Do my eyes deceive me or are the rest of the geriatrics here?!” He calls out once he’s close enough and the rest of the Losers turn around to face him.

“Eddie!” Bill’s grin is infectious as he rushes in to hug him, still about Eddie’s height and compact so the hug squeezes the life out of him.

“Good to see you, Billy, and even better to see your better half. Hi, Audra.” He shakes her hand and she smiles stunningly at him.

“It’s been too long; Bill’s been keeping you all to himself.” She giggles, covering her mouth as she laughs and damn, she’s _very_ charming. She then waves over to Alex who just curtsies back, making Audra giggle again. So she’s met them before, good to know.

“Mike,” He grins at the towering figure of his friend and protests very loudly when Mike picks him up during the hug.

“God, everyone needs to stop picking me up!” He whines, embarrassed but secretly pleased to see his friends again even if it’s under these weird circumstances.

“Who picked you up? Do I need to get in line?” Mike tilts his head before remembering his plus one. “Oh, Alex hasn’t met Angela yet!” He turns to the dark-skinned woman with an infectious grin on her face that had already greeted Eddie politely.

“Alex, this is my stepsister, Angela. Angela, this is Eddie’s better business half, Alessia.” Mike pushes his, apparently, stepsister forward almost as if she needs the boost. But the woman seems to be doing fine on her own as she steps in front of Alex.

“Hi, pleasure to meet you; I’ve heard a lot about you and Eddie and everyone in between.” Angela winks and Eddie’s shocked to see Alex’s cheeks get a little ruddier than they usually are.

“God, have they been badmouthing me again? You set fire to_ one _Christmas tree!” Alex rolls her eyes but accepts the proffered hand, shaking it gently before focusing back on greeting Patricia while Stan practically tackles him over.

They stumble back a few steps, curiously out of Richie’s earshot, as Stan hugs him fiercely. He can't help but return it because _god, this is Stan._ And _fucking shit, Stan’s dead back home._ He feels the tears threaten to fall but he just closes his eyes and –

“_Did they kill the clown?”_ Stan whispers into the side of his face and Eddie’s blood freezes in his veins.

“Stan.” He whispers back, trying to pull away but Stan refuses to let go.

“Tell me they did, Ed.” Stan’s voice is shaky and his entire frame is trembling.

Eddie feels his chest rattle with the force of his heartbeats. Does this mean? “They did. It’s over. They’re safe.” He breathes out in a gasp and Stan’s frame relaxes.

The taller finally pulls back and looks at him fully. He still has the wide eyes and the curly hair that’s gone darker in his older age. He still looks like the Stan he knew – but this is the Stan he never got to see upon his return to Derry.

“How did you-” His throat closes up as Stan shakes his head.

“Later, I’ll talk to you later. It’s good to see you, buddy.” Stan says the last part a little louder to make sure no one’s worrying about them and god, Eddie’s missed him terribly. “Go say hi to my wife and kick Richie in the knee or something, he’s looking a little left out.” Stan nudges him away and he snorts, dutifully offering a hand and a smile to Patricia and then flipping Richie off.

“What’d I do?!” Richie whines, drooping his arms like a marionette whose strings have been cut.

“You’re existence is enough, Tozier.” He shoots back, wishing he didn’t have to play this part that he’s set himself up for. Always Richie’s partner in crime, his interlocutor in verbal fights – a role that he played all too well. Well enough that everyone had just started assigning it to him automatically.

_When is it too late to break the mould? _

“Alright you bunch of hens, to the yacht!” Beverly yells over everyone and the congregation cheers. It’s comforting seeing them all happy and content like this. They’re all unburdened and even if Stan’s shoulders are a little stiffer than they should be, he’s still smiling and chatting with the rest.

“You’re oddly reserved this morning.” Richie falls into step next to him like he’d done so many times before.

“I just told you to fuck off, didn’t I?” He kicks up some sand so that it’ll get into Richie’s ugly white sneaker.

“Not in so many words, no.” The taller laughs, kicking sand back at him.

“Well, it’s implied.” He grins despite his words. And okay, maybe he’s been a little quiet and he knows he’d usually be all annoying and up in everyone’s face about it – because it always got Richie to notice, it always got him _paying attention._ But he’s had a lot to think about. Like the fact that Stan’s apparently not Stan-from-here either.

“Naw, you know you’d be bored without me.” Richie tugs him into a one-armed hug and Eddie lets himself lean into the taller’s frame. Richie seems surprised for a couple of moments before rolling with it naturally. “Really, though, you okay?”

“Yeah, this wedding shit’s got me feeling nostalgic. It’s been a while since we’ve all gotten together, huh?” _Understatement of the century, _he thinks deliriously.

“Last new year’s, yeah.” Richie offers. “I know we’ve hung around separately but it’s always nice to get everyone in the same place. Even if the ol’ balls and chains are with them.”

He laughs and it feels fake in his mouth. “You say that now but I'm pretty sure you’ll have your own to take to these things soon, too.” And fuck, _that’s _definitely the wrong thing to say because Richie’s entire frame goes stock still, steps faltering.

“Huh, guess that’s right.” The taller finally mumbles out, his hand in an unconscious death-grip on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Come on, Rich. I'm joking. Patty and Audra fit in just fine, even Angela does and I’d like to think you guys have accepted my platonic life partner that is Alex into the group, too. Stuart will be fine.” He wishes he could eat his words but not being supportive of Richie and making him feel better just isn’t something that Eddie can do. So spouting bullshit it is.

“Oh, huh.” Richie turns to look out into the water and where some kids are splashing around happily. “He doesn’t really _do_ hanging out like we do. He’s happy to see you guys once in a while but getting him to go and just sit down with a group of people is always a battle. He’s always working or got something better to be doing. Don’t get me wrong, he makes time for us but you know, too many people is kind of a no-go.”

_What a fucking dickbag._ Anger rises up inside him like charred vines, clogging his airways and making his vision red. He’s not sure if he’s shaking or about to pop a blood vessel but he feels like he could go absolutely _feral_. _What an absolute shitstain. _

“Richie...” He stars out slowly, careful to make his voice low and even. “That’s kind of shitty, don’t you think?”

“No! No. No?” Richie rubs a finger under his glasses and over his left eye. “No, he just works hard and a lot. He tries hard to make time and even suggested I take the year off from doing comedy so that we can spend more time together.”

_Bullshit._

“Did you?” Eddie squints up at him, urging the taller to keep walking because they’re falling behind. “I mean, did he take time off, too?”

“Well, no, but...” Richie trails off, unsure.

“Then it’s shitty. Did you want to take a year off?” Eddie persist like a shark that’s sensed blood in the water from miles away.

“No...” Richie looks down at him, his mouth set in a firm line. “I’ve been – writing some stuff here and there but nothing serious.”

“Hate to be the bearer of bad news, Rich, but that’s _shitty_.” He tries not to gloat overtly on the outside but on the inside he celebrates being right. _This dickhole ain’t shit_. He doesn’t deserve Richie, he doesn’t deserve a _minute_ of Richie’s time.

Richie visibly gathers himself and plasters on a smile. “Aw, don’t worry about me, Eds, I can be a big boy and stay on my own for a little while.”

“Bullshit, you hate being alone.” Eddie mutters under breath, unsure if Richie’s heard him or not. He shrugs the other’s hold off, “I trust you, Rich, I know you can make your own decisions. You know what makes you happy and I’ll support that.” He smiles, feels that it’s tight and fake so he hurries forward, catching up to Alex who’s throwing him a concerned look.

“What’s up?” She disengages Angel and focuses on Eddie instead, her undivided attention makes him both uncomfortable and pleased.

“Blood in the water.” He says grimly, already formulating a plan that shall be titled _Eddie’s Epic Eros Escapade. _So he might be reaching a little, sue him.

“Spooky.”

“Fuck off.”

* * *

People seem to enjoy cornering him after meals immensely because that’s exactly what Stan does, too. The brunch-lunch meal was a little more chaotic than last night’s dinner just because of the sheer amount of people that were occupying the dining area on the yacht but it was pleasant. It was good to see everyone getting along even if Eddie felt a little out of place.

“How’d you know I wasn’t – you know.” He tilts his head to look up at Stan who’s standing next to his beach chair.

“Straight? Not _not_ in love with Richie? From here? Which one, take your pick.” Stan grins down at him and he fights the urge to tip his drink over onto his shoes.

“Bitch, you know what I meant.” He grunts and pulls his knees up so that Stan can sit at the bottom of the chaise lounge chair.

Stan takes the offered seat and pats his knee almost condescendingly. “You looked lost when I saw you. And besides, you’re not wearing the loafers so that means Alex took you shopping and Eddie would never let her near his closet.”

“Fair, I hate loafers.” He smiles, taking in the way Stan is haloed by the sun. “How – when, uh, when did you get here?”

“I don’t know _how_ but the date was the 15th. Right after – yeah.” Stan looks down at his hands, absentmindedly rubbing at the wrist of his left arm.

Eddie’s throat closes up at the sight, remembering what happened and why Stan wasn’t there with them. He wants to say something, _anything_, but nothing comes out except for a strangled whine.

“Eddie... does this mean that you...” Stan shuffles closer and Eddie rushes forward to hug him again, just as fiercely as earlier.

“Yeah – I – I was stupid but I saw Richie caught in the deadlights and I had to save him. I speared the bastard through its gaping mouth and I was – I was _so _happy that I got it, that I was brave for Richie – but It got me. Right through the chest with a giant tentacle spike.” He shudders thinking about it, the fact that he’s living out his last days on Earth.

“Oh, Eddie.” Stan rubs his back comfortingly. “Richie lives?”

“Yeah, yes. He was – they got him, Pennywise, killed him dead.” He chokes on his next breath. “Stan.”

“Don’t – don’t worry about it. Don’t ask – I had to, just know that I had to.” Stan beats him to it, leaning back to meet his eyes. “I had to. I’m sorry but I did.”

“I wish you didn’t.” He admits silently, looking out at the water and wondering what had gone through the other’s head – what had lead him to doing it. He must have been truly desperate, terrified and devastated and Eddie wishes they were there for him. They should have been there.

“But I did. And now we’re here. Speaking of, why are _we _here exactly?” Stan switches the subject less than tactfully and Eddie just squints at him. “I mean, I get that you’re here for your big love confession or whatever. But why am _I_ here? Am I your emotional support? You seem to be doing okay with Alex in your corner.”

He groans, dropping back into a reclining position. “I don’t know. I thought I – I thought that I was gonna die and that would be it, you know? Like, sure I never got to tell Richie and now that things are in perspective, I was really fucking stupid not to do so while I had the chance, but I didn’t think it was that important. He knows I love him as a friend at least, as my best friend. I didn’t want my last words to be a shitty _I love you_ or whatever the fuck other cliché.”

“What _were_ your last words, then?” Stan smiles at him, tilting his head curiously.

“Um, it was – well, Richie was over me and panicking and screaming for me to stay awake and I just – um, I told him I fucked his mom.” He mumbles the last part out, hoping Stan won’t catch it but no luck. 

“Dude.” Stan wheezes, doubling over and laughing. “Eddie, buddy. That’s-”

“Shut up, an ‘_I fucked your mom’_ joke can be personal.” He hisses, trying to quiet the other down lest the people on the boat hear them. 

“You know, that’s exactly why it’s taken you two this long. Years and memories lost notwithstanding. You two sucked ass at communicating.” Stan shakes his head, looking over at the yacht and waving at Patty who’s looking down at them from the deck.

He looks out at the water again, noticing that Alex, Angela and Mike are splashing around the shallows. And of course, he spots Richie rushing down from the dock and into the water to tackle Mike into the water. Except that Mike’s built like a brick house so Richie sort-of just barrels into him. Mike, much to everyone’s delight, grabs Richie by the biceps and tosses him into the water.

Eddie cackles and so does Stan, the other toppling out of the chair and into the sand and causing Eddie to laugh harder. He feels his muscles cramping from the exertion, his entire frame shaking.

“It’s what he deserves.” Stan stutters out after he finally gathers himself off the ground.

“I don’t know what he was thinking.” Shaking his head, he stands up. “Come on, let’s make sure he doesn’t drown.”

They amble over and Richie, much like an excitable Great Dane, bounds out of the water and over to them. “Eds! Stanny!”

“Go away, you’re wet.” Stan ducks his outstretched arms but Eddie’s not as lucky.

“I saw you two assholes laughing! You’d laugh at me while I drowned? What sort of betrayal is this?!” Richie goes for him and Eddie has a moment to decide if he’ll let himself be grabbed or if he’ll escape. He – well, he’s weak. So he pretends to try and get away but allows Richie to catch him around the waist. He screeches as the taller whirls them around, stomping into the water.

“This isn’t fair!” He protests. “Stop picking me up just because you can!”

“But you’re pocket-sized! How can I possibly resist?!” Richie walks them straight into the water and then just _sits_ down, Eddie in the taller’s lap like a damn toddler. _Embarrassing._

“This is beneath me.” He sniffs, “This is the second day in a row that you’ve gotten me into the water fully clothed.”

“Actually, _I’m _beneath you.” Richie corrects, fingers digging into Eddie’s sides. “Also, aw, baby-”

“If you make a vagina joke I will literally murder you right now.” He grips the other’s forearm.

“Way to spoil the fun.” Richie takes both of his wrists and uses the twin grips to flail his arms around like those of a marionette. “Hi Mike, hi Alex and Angie!” Richie waves at the others with his arms and Eddie lets him because he doesn’t _actually_ want to spoil the others fun.

“Cute.” Stan waddles into the shallows, his pants hiked up to his knees.

“Aw, I know you are but what am I?” Richie croons up at the other and Eddie snorts. He’s – he wishes he had this, actually had this, back home.

“You – are an idiot.” Stan decides and then kicks out, effectively splashing them both and drenching Eddie fully.

“I take full offence.” Richie pouts, his voice doing the _soft and sweet _thing that makes Eddie’s insides goo again. “You know you love me, Staniel.”

“Unfortunate for everyone involved.” Stan glances at him meaningfully before plopping down into the water next to them like the good sport that he is.

“There you go! That’s a good boy!” Richie croons, reaching over to nudge Stan a little while also pulling Eddie back into his chest to securely keep him there. He hates it – hates the fact that he’s so happy being there cradled in Richie’s arms. Pathetic.

“I’m not a fucking dog, _Tosser_.” Stan chucks a seashell at Richie and Richie dodges, ducking them both under water. He splutters once they’re back up, smacking Richie on the forehead for doing that without warning.

“You’re a dickhead, Trashmouth!” He yells, appalled on the outside but _oh so happy_ on the inside. Because he’s here, with Stan and Richie and the rest of the Losers.

“Keep talking about my dick and I’ll start thinking-”

The rest of the taller’s sentence gets cut off by Eddie turning around, hands grabbing the other’s throat and pushing him under the water.

“Don’t kill him yet,” Stan warns as Eddie continues to dunk a laughing Richie into the water repeatedly.

“Soon.” He threatens but he’s smiling as Richie lets out peals of laughter that’s music to his ears. God, he was a fool in love and Stan won’t ever let him live it down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always u can find me on tumblr and twitter under marionettefthjm 🤙


	4. Reservoir Dogs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter in particular: internalised homobhobia and some slurrs due to a situation that occurrs when - well, spoilers  
I'm happy y'all are liking the story and i hope this chapter clears up some things that are still to be further addressed! Enjoy! Happy spookday!

Day two goes like this:

They eat, they swim, they fool around in the water like a litter of puppies. They eat again, they settle down in the yacht’s cinema room (what the fuck?) for a showing of classics like the first Ghostbusters, Back to The Future and the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre. They have dinner and then get a little tipsy before retiring to bed before 11 p.m. like a bunch of middle-aged assholes that they are.

Except, Eddie can’t sleep.

Alex is conked out on the bed, spread eagle across the entirety of it. Lucky lady. But Eddie’s too high-strung to lie down. He feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin and he doesn’t know why. He had fun – for the first time since, probably, his childhood he had actual fun. He’s surrounded by his favourite people in the world and he’s enjoying his last days on this Earth but – but he’s nervous. He’s anxious and his stomach is in knots at the thought of not being able to tell Richie. At the thought of Richie marrying Stuart and forever remaining out of Eddie’s grasp.

In a brief, delirious, moment as he's walking out the door of the little hut he's sharing with Alex, he thinks about marching over to Richie's own hut and just - letting it all loose. He thinks about kissing him stupid and then taking him to bed and letting him do - no, okay, not a good time for a boner.

He shakes his limbs out a little and the world spins. They're supposed to take the yacht out to some island so that they can swim with the dolphins or sharks there or whatever and he'd been drunk enough to think that's a great idea up until twenty minutes ago. Now he just can't stop thinking about how he's gonna either drown or get eaten by a shark, or maybe die from some innocuous-looking crab or some shit like that. Figures he'd survive a killer clown and get - no, that's not quite right, is it? Once, sure, but he didn't manage to go two for two.

Sighing heavily, he runs a hand through his hair and heads for the sandy beach behind the lodge. He might as well enjoy the starry sky while he's here - you don't get sights like this in New York or Detroit. Last he's seen a sky this starry was back in Derry when they were kids and Richie had talked him into camping.

It was terrible; there were mosquitoes everywhere, the cicadas never fucking shut up, the temperatures were off the charts and Richie wouldn't stop making stupid jokes. It was terrible but it was also one of his most cherished memories. Because Richie fought off the mosquitoes for him, stomped around to disperse the cicadas for him, fanned him with his pillow to cool him down and stopped making shitty jokes and instead hummed a low tune under his breath until Eddie fell asleep. Richie's always done things for him that were small and insignificant to anyone else but meant so much to Eddie.

Hindsight 20/20, as they say. He should have blurted his fucking feelings when he saw Richie in that stupid Chinese restaurant. He should have word vomited all over them both back when Richie announced he'd be leaving Derry a month before everyone else because he had a job on the side to earn himself some cash before college lined up. He should have told him the moment they defeated It the first time around. Should have taken him to - oh, huh. Okay.

Eddie's mind supplies him with an image of a bridge and after that bridge a railing and on that railing a little carving that had stood out to him years ago but only now makes sense. He's always glanced at it in passing and it had always made his heart ache in that familiar way of 'oh how i wish that were me'. R+E, plain as day and for all to see.

He plops down into the sand and leans back onto his arms, staring at the stars and grimacing as they start spinning a little. Right, that happens sometimes.

He would bet his last dollar that the next person to find him is going to be Richie and he'd add his fancy Rolls Royce that it will be tonight, too. He's becoming self-aware and now he's scared that whoever put him into this strange and slightly off-kilter universe is going to pluck him right out of it. But they've always been predictable like that. Somewhere in his gut he always knew when he was going to run into Richie at any given moment. He always had a feeling when Richie was going to come knocking on his window demanding to be let in.

A distant sound of a door opening imterrupts his thoughts and he leans back down, getting sand into his hair. It’s fine, he should probably shower anyway. He briefly thinks about how he hasn’t thought about his _wife_ once since he’s been here – since he’s stepped foot into Derry and _remembered._ Good, as it fucking should be.

A wave of sand springs up into the air and scatters over his shirt. Sighing, he brushes it off haphazardly without really looking up at the culprit. He continues staring at the sky and the stars until a familiar face pops into frame.

It’s Richie, it always is and will be Richie – and that goes for a lot of things in his life. God, he’s still so pissed about those years they’ve lost.

“Can’t sleep?” Richie asks, settling down next to him in the warm sand.

He hums, “Got a lot on my mind.”

“Oh? Thinking about me, are you?” Richie croons and Eddie glances at him, smiling sadly.

“Yeah,” He admits into the quiet night, letting the sound be washed away by the tide.

Richie looks stunned for far longer than Eddie thinks he’s going to before he schools his features into the patented Trashmouth Tozier grin. “Aw, that’s flattering, babe. Good thoughts only, I hope.”

He closes his eyes, _babe_. A sad chuckle makes it out of his throat without his consent. “’Course, Rich. Couldn’t badmouth you if I tried.”

“That’s nice except that it’s a filthy _lie_. You’re always on my case, darlin’, can’t keep my name out cha mouth.” Richie teases, keeping his voice low and sarcastic.

“Nah, Chee, you know you’re my favourite.” And it’s so easy to be soft-spoken and honest when he’s not looking at the other, when they’re shrouded by the veil of night lighted only by the moon and the stars. “I never mean it – even _if_ you’re nasty most of the times.”

“That – that’s oddly sincere.” Richie’s voice is tame this time and Eddie fights the urge to look at his face.

“You know – _in vino veritas.” _He says wisely, calling upon his ancient knowledge of Latin proverbs that speak the truth.

“No, I don’t,_ in fact_, know. Mr. Fancy Pants, speaking dead languages and shit. You never cease to surprise me, Eds.” Richie shuffles around and Eddie feels him lie down next to him, their arms pressed against each other fully.

_Just you wait, _he thinks and he should – he should probably tell him now or something. He shouldn’t wait for the last moment. But Eddie’s a dramatic bitch; he’s going to wait until he can’t anymore. But, like, not until the ‘_speak now or hold their peace’ _bit – he’s a cliché but he’s not a Hallmark movie.

“You know, in an alternate universe, I'm probably married already.” He doesn’t know what compels him to say it but it’s out there before he can stop it, probably the residual guilt over having left his _wife_ even if she was a literal demon.

“Yeah, bet you got snatched up right out of college by my fucking _mom_, Eds.” Richie chuckles and Eddie can practically see him rolling his eyes.

“Oh yeah, me an’ her are real happy, time to start calling me _daddy_, Rich.” He grins, turning onto his side and finally looking at the other. Oh, boy. Richie should _not_ look that good while sleep rumpled with crooked glasses and a weird, out-of-place blush on his face. And yet there he was, his wide shoulders and his big eyes and his ruffled curls. Damn him.

“You wanna get married?” Richie asks and Eddie’s heart leaps out of his chest before he realizes what the other is _really_ asking.

“Aw, Rich, ‘course I do but I don't think your fiancé would like you marrying someone else before the wedding.” He chuckles and feels like he’s choking on his own words. God, how he _yearns._

Richie’s forehead creases and his nose twitches like he’s just heard something particularly distasteful. The taller reaches forward with his spindly fingers and brushes them against his cheek – and, well, Eddie’s heart stutters before it almost stops altogether. “You got _sandy cheeks_.”

And Eddie, much to his mortification, bursts out into a laugh so loud that he has to clamp a hand over his mouth so that he doesn’t wake anyone else up. He doubles over on the sand, wishing he was anywhere else but here, days before Richie’s wedding having a fucking _moment_ in the sand with him.

“That was so stupid, I don't even know why I'm laughing.” He admits, wiping away the tears from the corners of his eyes. He’s probably still a little drunk.

“It’s ‘cause I'm the funniest person you know.” Richie says brightly and confidently.

“Don’t tell anyone...” He leans in closer, propped on one elbow and looking at Richie. “But you are.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” Richie deadpans and Eddie snorts, plopping back down but remains on his side where he can observe the other’s profile. He just – he just wanted to run his fingers along the other’s jawline.

“Bull, you have fans telling you you’re hilarious all the time.” He responds, thinking about the fourth day in this universe that he’d spent scrolling through _Twitter_ and watching Richie’s interviews on _YouTube_.

“Yeah, Spaghetti, but they ain’t _you_ so it don’t mean as much. I love my fans, I do. But you’re my best friend!” Richie turns to face him, flicking him on the nose playfully.

“That’s sweet.” He smiles, ignoring how his pulse is loud in his ears.

“I'm sweet all over, want a taste?” Richie drawls and Eddie jerks up and towards him.

He hovers, too close to the fire, too close to getting burned, over the other’s face. “Yeah?” He grins and drops sand onto Richie’s bewildered face like the dickhead he is.

“You little shit demon!” Richie howls after him as he books it out of the other’s near vicinity. But Richie is nothing if not persistent. And for the second time that day, he finds himself being chased by Richie Tozier along the sandy beaches of some random Maldives island.

And isn’t it how that’s always been? Richie chasing after him and Eddie pursuing Richie in every endeavour. It was a way of life that he’d forgotten. Oh, all the years they’d lost, two decades worth of pretending he’s someone who he most certainly is not.

“I swear to god, if you pick me up again – I _am_ leaving!” He threatens, standing in front of Richie with his arms spread like he’s ready for some beefy left tackle to bowl him over.

“If you keep doing stupid shit, you’re _gonna_ get picked up. That’s how life works.” Richie wiggles his fingers at him and Eddie scoffs.

“The only picking up I allow is at a bar or a nice, office party.” He hisses back, pointing an accusing finger at the other when Richie starts creeping closer.

“Scandalous, workplace romances are strictly forbidden! Especially if you’re the boss!” Richie gasps in pretend-horror, fanning himself.

“I _could _just fire whoever it is if I’m interested enough.” He points out because it’s the truth but it’s not like he’d ever do anything like that. Though, it seems that Eddie-from-here had has his fair share of workplace trysts. A lot of years of repression does that to a person, apparently.

“Worst. Boss. Ever.” Richie gives up trying to walk towards him and lets his arms hang limply by his side.

“I’ll have you know that all of my employees are happy and have dental.” He crosses his arms over his chest, letting his guard down now that Richie isn’t on the move.

“Whew, I don’t know how you make that much money if you’re not ripping off your employees. It’s highly impressive.” Richie rubs a hand over his chin as if he’s deep in thought.

“It’s because I don’t live in a giant mansion and waste all my money on fur coats and Rolex watches.” He rolls his eyes, purposely not looking at the shiny wristwatch on Richie’s arm. “Any money I don’t need goes to the company for expenses that maybe the budget can’t cover.” He explains simply, feeling stupid about having the conversation stirred to his dumb job.

“I don’t-” Richie waves his hand around. “You know I had a tiny elevated beach house near the rocks before Stu came along and that was enough, really. But Stu’s – he likes the luxury.” Richie shrugs and Eddie really doesn’t know why the other feels the need to defend himself. It’s not like Eddie’s judging him. Hell, maybe Eddie-from-here saved all his money but if Eddie-from-the-cave would have definitely spent some before investing.

“It’s fine, man, I’m not _rich-shaming_ you or anything.” He scoffs, slumping down and into the sand that’s become oddly comfortable again. He likes it, likes the warmth against his bare calves, almost like human body heat. Lame.

“No, I know. It’s just – sometimes... it’s too much.” Richie follows his lead and sits down next to him but ends up dropping to the ground too hard and toppling sideways and into Eddie’s unprepared frame. He doesn’t protest much, though. He lets Richie lay half across him and half on the sand. It’s oddly comfortable.

“You do know that you don’t have to do everything Stu says, yeah?” He rests a hand onto the back of Richie’s head where it’s nestled in his shoulder, fingers running through his hair.

“No, yeah, I know.” Richie mumbles, shifting to throw an arm over his chest, plastering himself to his side fully. “It’s just – you know how it is. A relationship is fifty-fifty.”

Eddie’s throat closes up at that, disagreeing completely. “Hate when people say that. It ain’t true. It’s fucking stupid. You’re not splitting the check. You’re entering a relationship. You’re not giving someone half your everything! A relationship should be a hundred-hundred but not in a sense that you’re _giving_ someone something. It’s a hundred percent of both your efforts to make it work. You can’t just half-ass it. Say you give up something you love doing for your significant other and okay, if you’re happy to do it for someone then that’s fine – maybe it wasn’t important after all.

“But if you give up something for someone that you still wanted to do and they don’t do the same when you ask them – then you’re giving it your best effort to make it work and they’re not meeting you there. You should get to keep things you love, should get to keep doing things that you like.” He breathes out, willing his heart beat to slow down because he’s sure that Richie’s been listening to it rattle up and down in varying intervals as he ranted.

“That’s – that’s surprisingly comprehensive.” Richie comments, fingers tapping along his sides in a staccato rhythm that Eddie recognizes as his own heartbeat.

“I’ve – college was weird.” He settles on saying, not really lying but omitting as to _which_ college exactly. “I was a good listener so people tended to complain to me about their relationships a lot. The common theme was that they all expected the other person to drop everything and have their world revolve around their significant other as soon as they agreed to date. I know you want to please Stuart because that feels like the right thing to do, because we’ve sort-of been brought up with that notion. But – but, just, don’t lose yourself in it all.” He feels like he’s going to split at the seams.

Stuart is a dickhole. He’s a fucking piece of shit and it’s been proven to him endlessly over only two days time. Stuart also, apparently, expected Richie to drop everything and become his trophy husband. Which was bullshit because, sure, Richie is handsome and beautiful and tall and amazing and – _because _he’s his own person, unable to sit still for longer than a couple of minutes at a time, someone who always has to be doing something, someone used to having a creative outlet with his writing and comedy that helps him deal with undiagnosed ADHD. Richie should be free to do whatever the fuck he wants. He should be able to live in his shitty little boarded beach house; should be able to write his own material and perform it whenever he wants, should be able to have his shitty little intimate wedding in a Las Vegas casino done by an Elvis impersonator. But that’s all been taken away from him by this Hollywood Hills-dwelling goblin that he’s marrying in three days. God, he thinks he’s gonna be sick.

“A good listener? And you never made fun of them? Doesn’t sound like you.” Richie chuckles feebly and Eddie continues running a hand through his loose curls.

“You know I save the best of my mocking for you only, Tozier.” He smiles up at the sky, ignoring the way Richie’s glasses are digging into the side of his neck.

“I’m honoured,” Richie hums, breathing slowing down and body relaxing.

He nudges the other with the shoulder he’s lying on. “Don’t fall asleep here, Rich, that’s actually disgusting.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m too comfy to move.” Richie throws a leg over both of his to prove his point.

Eddie sighs because it’s the only thing that he can do. He’s not going to just dump the other in the sand and leave and, frankly, he doesn’t want to. “Think about what I said, Rich, takes two to make it work.” He whispers out gently as Richie lets sleep take him over.

He’ll fucking hate waking up on the beach with sand in every possible body crevice but laying there with Richie snuggled up against his side might possibly be the best position that he’s ever been in. So he doesn’t move and closes his eyes on the too-bright moon. Tomorrow, he’ll think about all of this tomorrow.

* * *

He gets woken up by a kick to the ribs and Richie groaning in his ear. His entire left side is numb and his face is warm from the morning sun and his legs – his legs are buried in sand, okay. He forces his eyes to open and meet the curious gaze of Stan – the one that dished out the kick to the ribs, then.

“You tell ‘im?” Stan asks, dropping to a crouch to meet his eyes.

“Fuck do you think?” He grinds out, making a point of glaring at Stan without blinking even if his eyes sting.

“You’re a bitch, Kaspbrak, I hope you know that.” Stan decides and then smacks his cheek.

“Fuck off, Uris.” He closes his eyes and enjoys the warmth of the situation and the long line of Richie’s body along his. They haven’t really moved at all during the night and he isn’t surprised. They’d passed out pretty quickly once they’d settled down and remembering what he’d talked about before they did, makes him slightly nervous to wake Richie up. But he has to piss real bad and he’s pretty sure his left side is dead by now.

“Come on, Beverly told us to let you two sleep after Bill and Alex tucked you in under a blanket of sand but it’s like, lunchtime now.” Stan stands back up and Eddie laughs at his creaking knees more than he probably should considering he’s pretty much the same.

His laughter stirs Richie from his slumber and Eddie get’s the privilege of watching him blink himself into wakefulness. The taller rubs at his eyes under his glasses and squints at Eddie, pouting and looking all around very confused.

“This isn’t one of my dreams where the two of us are shipwrecked and I have to give up my leg so that we can eat and survive until Ben comes to pick us up in his yacht, is it?” Richie’s ability to spout shit doesn’t seem to have work hours and is open 24/7 all day, every day.

“We could probably hunt fish if we shipwrecked somewhere. We could hunt crabs and birds, eat coconuts, there’s absolutely no need for us to resort to cannibalism. Not to mention we’d go mad from consuming human flesh _and_ I’d clobber you to death before allowing you to chop your own leg off.” He responds in kind, not letting the dryness of his throat stop him.

“We’d get eaten by coconut crabs before either of us could catch a fish. Like Amelia Earhart.” Richie stretches the leg throw over him to dislodge the sand covering it and flops onto his back, releasing Eddie’s left side from its prison.

“That’s only a _theory_, it was never proven.” Stan points out smartly.

“Well, who do _you_ think did it? The aliens?” Richie perks up, excited at the prospect of discussing something absurd with Stan who was a known sceptic – despite having been through supernatural hell already. Oh, right, Aliens.

“I think they ended up on an island and then they ate each other.” Richie continues. “Or they were eaten by the natives. Either way, cannibalism.”

“Wish that guy didn’t throw those found bones out,” Stan hums and twists at the waist, cracking his spine.

“Really, though, coconut crabs. Up to three feet tall, think about it.” Richie shivers, “Terrifying.”

“Can we not talk about big fucking crabs eating people when we’re literally on a tropical island around the same area.” Eddie whines, wiggling his legs to get the piles of sand off them.

“New Guinea is nowhere near the Maldives, idiot.” Stan kicks sand at him again and Eddie’s getting tired of grains in his mouth.

“Whatever, all these islands are the same.”

“Objectively not true.”

“Objectively, _fuck yourself,_ Tozier.”

“Guys, please.”

“That’s it, Stanny-boy, talk dirty to me.” Richie purrs and Stan throws his hands up, walking away from them and leaving Eddie to stew in his own problems alone.

“Rude.” Richie scrunches his nose up again and tries to get up from a push-up position, ends up flopping back down. “Bad idea.”

“Weak old man.” Eddie grins at him and sits up to finally head back to the cabin.

“We can’t all have the body of a spry, young, twenty-year-old.” Richie pouts at him again, very effective at making Eddie want to kiss the stupid expression off his face.

“I gotta piss,” He grumbles instead of responding to Richie’s compliment.

“The ocean’s your toilet, as they say.” Richie hums.

“Disgusting, toilets were made for a reason.” He gets up, finally shaking off the haziness of sleep from his limbs and letting the warmth of Richie’s body fade away reluctantly.

“We’ve all come from nature.” Richie sits up, annoyingly wide and put-together for someone who’s just spent the night sleeping on a beach. That’s a lie, he looks like absolute garbage but Eddie would love to just take a photo of him and put it as his background.

“You _come_ in nature? Ew, what the fuck dude.” Eddie screeches out, pleased with himself as Richie starts laughing obnoxiously.

“Aw, Eds, I missed you.” Richie croons, grabbing his calf and patting it affectionately.

He ignores the way that the touch sends shivers up his spine as Richie’s hold lingers, thumb rubbing over his skin distractedly. God, how had he been so blind all this time? _Hindsight 20/20._

“Well, gee, Rich, have you tried _spending time_ with me?” He peers down at the other, curious to see what the other’s reaction will be. He has to step up his game if he wants to work himself up to confessing to Richie so he’s still trying the ‘_be nicer’_ route. But okay, maybe this wasn’t really _nice _and more along the lines of _guilt tripping _but he’ll take what he can get. Breaking the mould is difficult.

Richie’s face falls, eyes dropping down to stare at the horizon instead of looking up at Eddie and his fingers dig a little into the meat of his calf where he’s _still_ keeping a hold on Eddie’s leg like it’s a lifeline.

“I’m sorry.” Richie ends up saying and Eddie tries hard not to flinch violently. A sad laugh makes its way out of the other man’s throat and Eddie wants to keel over and die because _he_ caused it. “You must think I’m an idiot, huh?”

“Rich – you’re a dumbass but you’re not an idiot.” He shuffles a little closer, letting Richie lean against his leg for comfort.

“No – no. I know – I know you don’t like Stuart, none of the Losers do. I know you think I’m stupid for agreeing to marry him.” Richie admits lowly and Eddie’s blood goes cold in his veins. He doesn’t know where this is going. For once he doesn’t know what’s going to come out of Richie’s mouth and it terrifies him to no end.

“Far be it for me to tell you who to marry, Rich.” He says, like he’s not planning on doing just that soon enough.

“I just... He’s a good guy, he’s got a real job – not – not like, comedy and stand-up. He’s got a four-oh-one-K, investments in real-estate... all this adult shit that I’ll never be able to have or do.” Richie’s sombre voice makes him want to seriously assassinate Stuart. Makes him want to track down whoever put these stupid ideas into Richie’s head about what it meant to be an adult like a bloodhound and tear them to shreds.

_An unhealthy relationship._

The words ring around in his head, voice sounding oddly like Beverly’s and it makes sense. He’s been – he’s been through it, Bev’s been through it. Looks like in this universe Richie is the one going through it. He also absolutely despises Eddie-from-here for letting it get this far and not saying anything.

“First of all, that’s dumb as fucking shit, Rich.” He brings a hand to Richie’s head, running his fingers along his short curls. “_You_ define what _being an adult_ is for _you._ Comedy is definitely a real profession because, obviously, not everyone can do it and you’ve made a name for yourself already. You had your own place and you had something you loved doing. You think I _like_ what I do? Fuck, Rich, I’d rather be playing competitive chess than having a stable job. You do what you want and it’s – it’s something I’ve always lo- admired about you. I-”

“Eds...”

“No, no. You’re happy when you’re on the stage, you like writing your own shit. And even if you want to marry someone we don’t necessarily like-”

“Eds, buddy, you gotta-”

“It’s your decision. If that’ll make you happy then yeah, but be sure. And don’t let him, like – put stupid notions like that in your head and-”

“Eddie, I think we should really-”

“No, shut up, I’m talking. What is it? You only get to hear this once.”

“Eds there’s a pack of dogs running at you and I think we should move.”

“What?” He turns to look at where Richie is pointing but at that point it’s entirely too late and he get’s barrelled over by four Great Danes and everything goes black.

* * *

He’s floating in an endless void. Everything around him is pitch black but he can still see a couple of feet away from him like he’s illuminated. Distinctly, he remembers that one scene from season three of _Avatar: The Last Airbender_ where Aang has to unlock his last chakra and enters the Avatar state but then has visions of-

“You!”

“Me?” He turns sharply to be faced with – well – _him._

It’s him – but it’s Eddie-from-here him. He’s got the hair and the business casual suit on that differs from Eddie’s own current state where he’s much like he was back in the cave – bloodied shirt, hoodie and all. Hm. He’s gonna miss the abs.

“Damn, don’t tell me a pack of dogs did me in this time.” He hums, poking distractedly where he thinks the hole in his chest should be.

“What?” Eddie-from-here screeches in that familiar way – because he is, after all, him. “No, you idiot, you’re unconscious!”

“Fucking, no way! What gave you that idea!?” He hisses back, thinks about punching alternative-him in his fucking face.

“Wow, why are _you_ so pressed?” Eddie-from-here crosses his arms over his chest.

“Oh, I don’t know? The fact that I got _murdered_ and then had to come to _your_ home and fix _your_ mistakes! You fucker! How could you let that happen to him! We _love_ him! What is your fucking problem?!” He marches forward, he may not have the abs but he has the power of fury and rage fuelling him.

“What.” Eddie-from-here freezes and he makes for the other’s jacket, gripping his lapels and bringing him closer to his own face.

“Richie! What did you do to him?! Why did you – how could you let him get fucking _engaged?!_ To someone who’s not you_ – us?” _He demands, shaking the other to get some sense into his head.

Eddie-from-here’s face crumbles and tears begin streaming down his cheeks. Eddie’s so taken aback that he drops him like a hot lump of coal. The man falls to his knees, sobbing into his hands.

“What the fuck happened, man.” He crouches down, trying to meet the other’s eyes and failing miserably because Eddie-from-here just won’t stop crying. “Stop, hey, fucking stop it, you pussy.”

“Why the _fuck_ are you so mean?” Comes a muffled reply.

“Why wouldn’t I be? You’re me – I’m you, we’re an asshole.” They both snort at the poor joke and Eddie-from-here wipes at his face furiously.

“You – you said you got murdered... I – I got the fucking invitation to the wedding and I just wanted to get drunk so that I didn’t have to think about... yeah.” Eddie-from-here trails off and he suddenly realizes the gravity of the situation.

It’s not an accident that he’d switched lives with this particular alternative-Eddie. Eddie-from-here drank himself into a fucking coma like the idiot he is and he got to hop into his body for the time being. Weird but, obviously, not impossible.

“Come on, man. Tell me – what the fuck were you thinking? Stuart’s a piece of shit and I haven’t even _met_ the guy yet.” He whines, genuinely wanting to know what happened, how did Eddie-from-here let it get that far without any interventions.

“I don’t know. I don’t-” Eddie-from-here scrubs his hands over his face furiously. “After Derry we fell apart during college a little and I found Alex and Terrance and I was fine, I didn’t think about it. I – I had girlfriends and before I knew it I was starting a company and then when we all reconnected – I thought I would be fine not thinking about it and just.”

“Stupid. Fucking idiotic! You know what _I_ had the privilege of going through?! I got married to our _mother_! I forgot about Richie for _two decades_ because a demon from space put a curse on fucking buttfuck Derry and then I had to go back and _kill_ it. And I _still_ died saving Richie! Because I’ve always loved him! There was not a day in my life that I haven’t loved him, even when I didn’t fucking remember! You have _no_ fucking excuse! Do you even _love _him? Can you even call yourself a Loser anymore?” He screams, pushing the other man back and sending him sprawling even from his sitting position.

He’s livid, absolutely furious. Eddie-from-here thought he could just live in denial? When he got to remember Richie and continue living with the knowledge of their childhoods and all of their friends intact? Fucking privileged.

“Of course I love him!” Eddie-from-here whimpers out like it pains him to admit it.

“Then what’s the fucking problem?” He crawls over himself, hands gripping the other’s button up, ready to _slam_ him into the non-existent ground if he says something idiotic.

Eddie-from-here chokes on a breath as he rushes to respond. “I’m scared! I was scared! Richie was always – he was always so open with everything about himself. With his relationships, his sexuality – he made a living out of it! He became famous and he’s good at doing what he does! I tried – so many times, I wanted to tell him but I – and then he’d make a _joke_ and I’d lose my nerve!”

_Slam_.

“Don’t you _dare_ put this on him!” He growls at the other’s pathetic excuse. “This is on you! You had every fucking chance in the last thirty years! And you didn’t! Do! Anything!” _Slam. “_And he got tired of waiting. He got tired of waiting for your sorry ass to come out of the closet and you know what? I told them. I told them you’re a fucking _queermo_. That you’re a little _cocksucker_!”

Eddie-from-here’s crying again but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that he’s being insensitive and as bad as the bullies from their hometown – he just wants to _hurt_ the other in any way that he can.

“No!” And still, Eddie-from-here protests.

“Yes. You are. You’ll always be, no matter the universe. You’ll always love Richie, too, and I’m not going to let your chances go to waste because I was robbed of mine. I’m going to stop him from marrying Stuart and you’re going to have to deal with it once you get back. _If_ you get back.” He threatens, _promises_ really. Because now, that he knows, he’ll make sure that he doesn’t lose Richie again.

“I don’t fucking know what the fuck happens once I do but you bet your ass I’ll take the chance to be happy with him even if for a moment. And you’ll fucking thank me later for it, too. Bitch.” He releases the other and stands up, ready for this weird fever-dream to end.

He walks away from the other without looking back. He doesn’t know where he’s going or how he’ll get there but he’ll just keep walking until he wakes up, he supposes.

* * *

When he comes to this time, it’s to three familiar faces staring down at him.

“I hope no one kissed me.” He grinds out, wincing as pain laces his ribs.

“That’s from the first Avengers movie.” Richie points out and he fights the urge to smack his face away.

“No, but the dogs got in a few good licks.” Alex grins down at him and he feels bile rise up.

“Oh, that’s vile.” He whines, thinking about all the germs on a dog’s tongue.

“That all you have to say about it? Maybe he’s got brain damage.” Mike pokes his forehead and Eddie swats his hand away.

“Help me up, assholes.” He reaches out and Mike and Richie both grab a hand, hauling him up. He stumbles into Richie before they steady him. “What happened?”

“Someone let their pack of dogs loose on the beach and they seemed to like you. You got the wind knocked out of you and passed out for like a minute or two.” Alex explains, patting him down and getting rid of the sand collected on his clothes.

“Someone? You mean Ben and Bev.” Richie glares over to the boat where some of their friends are trying to wrangle a bunch of dogs back onto the giant boat.

“How come we haven’t been introduced to them yet?” He, despite himself, pouts and heads for the dogs. He loves dogs, really, but the mess is most of the times not worth it. Or maybe it is, he’s never had a dog.

“Because they’re apparently very excitable.” Mike chuckles as Richie tries to pull him back from rushing for the dogs.

“I am – offended!” He yells as he gets close enough to Ben and Bev.

“Eddie! Oh, my god! We’re so sorry! They’re still young and we’ve been trying to teach them manners but they still think they’re lapdogs!” Beverly cups his face in her hands, looking him over for injuries.

“I’m fine – maybe a little bruised but it’ll pass. I’m mostly offended you kept these beauties away from us for this long!” He drops to his knees and reluctantly lets the four big dogs slobber all over him, wincing while he does so.

“Is he okay?” He hears Ben ask in the background and Alex humming.

“I think it’s brain damage from the lack of oxygen.” She responds and he looks back at them with a frown.

“I can still hear, you know.” He grunts as one of the dogs plants itself in his lap, lapping at his cheek. “They’re wonderful, what are their names?” He looks back up at Bev who’s looking at him like she’s seeing a miracle.

If he weren’t so focused on destroying the image of himself Eddie-from-here has projected out into the world, he’d probably be grossed out. But seeing as he _is_ trying to do that, he is furiously trying not to let it bother him too much. He’ll take a shower, it’ll be fine.

“Daisy, Ember, Duke and Spike.” She points at the silver, ginger, white and black spotted and black Great Danes respectfully.

“They’re wonderful.” He cuddles the dog on his lap, Duke, closer to himself as the other three make themselves comfortable around and over him. 

“God, I wish that were me.”

“Shut the fuck up, Richie!” 


	5. The Communist Manifesto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am. Back.  
This chapter was getting a bit long so i had to split it into two parts! Hopefully you enjoy and as always stay strong until the next update  
This particular chapter warning: nothing in particular but you know everythings got a heavy undertone due to the nature of richies relationship with stuart

He takes one of the longest showers ever to make sure that he gets all the sand from the nooks and crannies and the dog slobber from off his person. He’s pretty hungry by the time he’s done with everything so he puts one a fresh pair of swim shorts (that are maybe shorter than necessary), a shirt and some shoes before heading over to the yacht again.

They’d made him and Richie go change because they were still doing the stupid _diving with the sharks_ thing that he’s absolutely going to hate, he already knows, so he half expects the other to be waiting for him by the lodge. It’s stupid that he’s a little hurt when he gets there and doesn’t see Richie. It’s not like the other knows his whereabouts telepathically, he’s being fucking stupid and he knows it.

But, he’s getting desperate. He knows that once they get together with everyone, Richie will be swept away by the rest of their friends because he’s the star of the show – always has been, really. He wonders if he’s the only one that feels like his world revolves around Richie and making him happy. He wonders if he’s always felt like that; has Richie always been the centre of _his_ attention?

He drops down from the platform the lodge and sinks into the soft sand a little. The yacht is still, thankfully, there and waiting for him. He wouldn’t put it past them to leave him back because he’s been purposefully stalling. He _really_ doesn’t want to go swimming with the sharks.

“Hey!”

“FUCK!” He spins around, swinging wildly on instinct and catching the jaw of whoever it is behind him with a semi-strong punch.

“What the FUCK, Eddie?!” Richie, clutching at his face, stares at him with wide eyes.

“Richie! I am _so_ sorry! What the fuck were you thinking!? You can’t just sneak up on a man like that when he’s in a foreign country!” He wheezes out, rushing forward to cradle the other’s jaw and trying to look for bruising.

“Yeah! Because a robber is gonna scream _hey _at you before trying to steal your money! Have you been doing martial arts?! That punch was oddly fucking precise!” Richie whines at him, slumping into Eddie’s hold on his face.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I hope it doesn’t bruise or we’ll have to have Bev put some makeup on you. Can’t have you roughed up for the wedding photos.” He rubs his thumb along the faint stubble lining the other’s jaw.

“Aw, shucks, I’ll look dashingly roughish! Come on, sock me again, I need a black eye!” Richie grips his wrist and flails his other arm around.

He snorts, smacking the other’s cheek lightly before pulling back. “I thought you’d be on the boat by now?”

“Ah, got a call from Stu so I got a little held up.” Richie shrugs, tugging him along towards the boat.

“He checking up on you?” Eddie asks curiously, wondering why Stuart chose today to call in if he’s ignored Richie for almost three days now – as far as he can tell.

“Ugh, no – just – he wants to push the date a day early because an opportunity to rub some elbows with some corporate arms on the 8th has arisen from the dirt.” Richie runs his free hand through his curls and Eddie feels his anger levels rising again almost physically.

“What’d – what’d you say?” He fears the answer. Fears that he hadn’t gotten through to Richie at all in his attempts; fears that the other gave in all over again.

“I told him no.” Richie smiles down at him and it rivals the sun bearing down on them persistently.

“Good,” He manages to bark out, probably sounding more forceful than he needs to. “It’s your wedding, too. You should get a say in it.”

“I – you’re right. I was being too accommodating but this really is too much.” Richie sighs. “He pushed the schmoosing to the 9th.”

“But – the honeymoon?” He asks as if he’ll allow the other to get married to that piece od shit in the first place. _Not on my watch,_ he thinks to himself angrily.

Richie shrugs, swinging their linked arms like he’s not bothered by the situation at all. “Plenty of time for that after.”

He wonders how many times Richie’s been left behind because Stuart had to brown-nose some rich CEO’s ass. Probably more than he deserved. “But that’s not the point of a honeymoon. Anyone can just _go_ on vacation. You’re supposed to mingle with your guests get smashed and have someone drive you to a plane and then get on that damn flight and book it to some romantic destination like, Paris or fucking Bucharest or whatever.”

“Oh, yeah, _Romania_! Prime honeymoon material right there!” Richie scoffs and Eddie tugs at their joined hands, causing Richie to lose his balance a little.

“I’m surprised you even know where that is, fucker. And that’s beside the point.” He puts them back on the right path once Richie gets his footing back and the taller tugs him into his side. It’s too comfortable, it’s giving the people eying them and their bickering the wrong idea. Well, not necessarily the _wrong_ idea but just the wrong idea at the moment.

“I know you’re worried, Eds, but don’t be. Besides, I can always make you stay here and keep me company for a few extra days.” Richie grins at him as they start climbing the yacht ramp and Eddie’s eye twitches in irritation.

“Yes, well. You’re not marrying _me_, are you?” He tugs out of the other’s hold and crosses his arms over his chest.

Richie’s face does the thing where he wants to laugh but whatever he’s feeling is much stronger than his ability to grin through it so he ends up grimacing in an odd way. He hasn’t really realized that he’d categorized most of Richie’s expressions by now – it still feels weird to acknowledge how much of Richie he’s actually noticed and taken stock of – piles and _piles_ of notes neatly stacked in mental binders and filing cabinets.

“You wouldn’t stay if I asked?” Richie pouts and that – that’s just not fair.

Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose before rolling his eyes. “Of course I’d stay, idiot, but that’s still not the point.”

“Can – can we drop it? It is what it is, Spaghetti.” Richie pushes him up the ramp further so that the poor crewman doesn’t have to keep standing there waiting for them while they bicker.

“Don’t call me that, Trashmouth.” He grunts, humouring Richie and dropping the subject even _if_ he wants to scream at the other about how much of a dick Stuart is. But – he’s not sure Richie would listen, so he keeps his mouth shut for now and goes on a search for his right hand woman.

“Did you sucker punch Richie in the face or did I see that wrong?” Are the first words out of Alessia’s mouth once he finds her at the second deck.

“He snuck up on me, it’s his fault.” He defends himself, leaning against the railing as the boat starts moving.

“That’s definitely the wrong way to win a man over.” Alex points out and he snorts, it’s not like he doesn’t know.

“I – uh, I’m about to tell you something crazy.” He decides to fill her in on the whole meeting in between the dimensions.

“Crazier than _‘hey, I’m not the Eddie you know, nice to meet you’_?” She grins smugly as he pouts.

“I did _not_ say it like that.” He points out and doesn’t let her argue with him, continues without taking a breath. “I met – when I passed out I went into this weird fucking void where I met Eddie-from-here.” He looks around, making sure that they’re alone and out of earshot.

“Shit, you did? What’d he say?” She leans in closer, whispering conspiratorially with him.

“He was a bitch.” He grunts and she lets out a bark of laughter. “Knocked him down and almost pounded his face in because he’s been a fucking idiot for so long. Ugh... might have used a slur in the heat of the moment which is stupid because he’s me and – a lot of internalised shit there that I’d rather not touch.”

“Dude, that’s intense.” Her eyes are a little wide behind her round glasses, genuinely surprised.

“Yeah, well, you didn’t _tell_ me he was such a fucking bitch.” He’s irritated over that still, yes. He just wishes he had the patience to knock some more sense into the guy. Alas.

“Uh, yeah, sometimes he is. Hopefully he learns from this experience.” She hums, looking down at the lower deck where Angela and Mike are engaged in an intense game of chess against Audra and Bill.

“Yelled at him a lot, told him I died. We established I’m here because he drank himself into a fucking coma. What a fucking joke.” He remembers the pristine room he’d woken up in and wonders how the fuck did the other managed to get himself there in the first place.

“Oh, shit. I – I knew I shouldn’t have let him get into the cabinet. But he was just – he was so fucking bummed over the invitation and I couldn’t watch him mope around the apartment, crying out every five minutes, without doing anything. I didn’t think he’d take the absinthe, though. An oversight on my part.” Alex scrubs a hand over her face before gripping the railing tightly, an angry expression on her face.

He doesn’t know who the anger is directed at_ exactly_ but he’s not going to let her be angry with herself because it’s not her fault Eddie-from-here is weak like that. He’s starting to despise the guy.

“Look,” He starts, rubbing a hand between her shoulder blades comfortingly. “It’s not your fault. It seems to me like this is the better option anyway. I know you like to keep him in check but he’s a grown man, he can make his own mistakes.

“What, like Richie?” She shoots back with a glare.

“This ain’t about him.” He bites back with a grin and she chuckles. “I know we’re friends and all but, Eddie-from-here isn’t your responsibility no matter how childishly he acts.”

“That’s fair.”

“More than.”

“Don’t push it.”

* * *

“Do you think that the universe is punishing you?” Stan asks him as he’s disinfecting the scrape on his knee where Richie had pushed him into a coral reef.

“He didn’t mean to.” He hisses as he pushes against a particularly deep cut.

“No, but the universe might have.” Stan pinches the bridge of his nose. “How did – he fucking _yeeted_ you off that boat, why did you let him?”

“I – he grabbed my hand and I thought he was gonna say something but then he just – manhandled me off the fucking boat.” He grunts, looking away from Stan’s judging eyes.

“At least you got out of petting the fucking sharks, god; they don't know how lucky they are.” Stan shakes his head in disappointment.

“They really _are_ gambling, huh?” He chuckles, thinking about the others taking everything for granted.

“Why’s Richie not here with you, then?” Stan hands him a Band-Aid when he holds out a hand for it. He knows it’ll eventually get soggy and fall off but for now, it’ll help.

“Didn’t want him missing the fun. He seems to be enjoying himself so I'm not gonna rain on his parade.” He sighs; he’s caused Richie more than enough trouble in the past three days.

“You didn’t – you’ve been trying to steer him in the right direction. It’s – you’re working up to it.” Stan pats his back considerately and Eddie smiles gratefully, it felt good to have Stan next to him like this – especially after everything.

“God, Stuart is such a piece of shit. Do you – how much do you know?” He cranes his neck to the side and stretches his leg out, surveying the damage. Nothing major but it’ll bruise and scab.

“I – not much. I woke up in the hospital here; Stan from this universe was in a car accident and had been in a medically induced coma for a few days. I managed to pass if off as short-term memory loss as I asked about the Losers.” Stan explains, running a hand through his damp curls. “They met at some after party for some fancy event. Stuart was, like, dating some other guy who Richie apparently beat out of the competition for an Emmy. Wild.”

“Not that I blame him, but did Stuart just ditch the guy for Richie?” He winces as he tries to cross his legs, thankful that he’s back on the big yacht and away from the salt water because he’s achy.

“Seems like it. And Richie went with it because he’s Richie and he _goes with the flow_.” Stuart air-quotes the last part.

“Bev said it’s because he got tired of waiting. Made me feel like shit but it’s true. Eddie-from-here’s a fucking jackass.” He smacks Stan’s arm away with a hiss when he tries to prod at his bruise.

“You – you’ve met him?” Stan shuffles closer, doing the same thing Alex did where he’s speaking softly and quietly as if someone will overhear.

“God, yeah, forgot to tell you. When the dogs knocked me out. Terrible guy, a stupid fucking coward.” He grimaces as he remembers again.

“Don’t you think that’s a little harsh? You don't know what he’s been through, why he waited so long to say anything. If he grew up with – no offence – _your mother,_ then it’s no wonder. You had the privilege of forgetting the trauma, he had to endure it and probably repress a lot of shit to get to where he is right now.” Stan, ever the voice of reason, throws out good points like it’s no big deal.

And Eddie gets it, he does. But he’s just so angry with the guy that he still can’t bring himself to forgive him for putting Richie and him through the grinder like that. But Stan’s right – Stan’s always right about something. From the moment they met, Stan’s been the one to listen to alongside Bill. Later came Mike and Ben and Bev – but, really, listen to anyone that’s not Richie. And what did Eddie do? He listened to Richie, mocked him relentlessly, but still followed his every crazy idea to a T.

“I know – I just... that’s a lot of years wasted, Stan. We didn’t remember but they – he had every opportunity. He had friends who loved him, he had a job he liked and he had Richie vying for his attention until he got tired of waiting. You should hear how Richie talks about Stuart. It’s like the man’s his ticket to a stable life and a _normal_ career. He talks about it like it’s a scholarship. _Oh, if I marry Stu, I’ll be able to do adult things like a proper adult. And then I’ll end up paying off the emotional loan for the rest of my life.”_ He imitates Richie’s voice, albeit poorly, to try and prove his point. Nobody should talk like that about someone they’re about to marry. “And don’t get me started on how Stuart treats _him_.”

“It’s tough, I know. It’s shitty that we had to end up here picking up after someone else. Like, okay, still makes sense that it’s _you_ but why am _I _here? It just doesn’t add up.” Stan sighs heavily, leaning into him comfortably. “And I get that – I asked Patty how we feel about Stuart and she just made a complicated face and said _you tried, Stanley, but if he thinks he’ll be happy then you can’t really do anything about it. _Very reassuring, I know._”_

“I feel like I'm gonna deck him in the nose.” He declares after a moment of silence.

“Why are you so violent all of a sudden? You’re unexpectedly a small ball of rage.” Stan grins and nudges him with his shoulder.

“Can you blame me? I'm literally fighting the universe tooth and nail to be able to tell Richie how I feel. And he’s not even _my_ Richie. I mean, yeah, okay, every Richie is my Richie but this Richie didn’t share the important parts with me. With us, the Losers, the ones that kicked Its ass.” It’s all complicated, the more he thinks about the _multiverse_ _theory_ the more his head hurts.

“That’s – what, like, _soulmates?”_ Stan scoffs derisively and Eddie feels his cheeks heat.

“Seems like it, doesn’t it?” He looks away to avoid the other’s gaze again, looking down into the water and the distance where the others are splashing around with some non-maneating sharks.

“That’s incredibly sappy and gay of you.” Stan flicks his ear and he startles, glaring at the other man.

“Fuck off, like you didn’t think you and B-” He slams his trap shut, eyes widening in turn with Stan’s. Oh, oh he’d forgotten about that little bit of information.

Stan turns away abruptly, frowning aggressively at his hands where they’re gripping the railing. “That’s a can of worms best left unopened.”

“Sorry, sorry.” They fall silent and Eddie berates himself for letting it slip out. Not like it matters now. After all, both Bill and Stan were married to their wonderful wives and were seemingly happy. He swallows his tongue and keeps quiet as they watch the water lap at the yacht.

“When are you gonna do it, shithead!?” Stan barks out impatiently and Eddie flinches away.

“Fuck, Stan! You can’t scare me into saying it!” He jolts upwards, fists clenched.

“I’m sorry – I just. I don’t want you to let the chance pass you by.” Stan places his hands on his shoulders and shakes him lightly.

“No – hey, don’t worry. I won’t. I promise I won’t. I’ll tell him even _if_ I have to wait for the ‘_forever hold your peace’_ bit.” He grips Stan’s forearm and looks into his wide eyes. It’s fine. They’re gonna be fine. The world around him might be on fire but he’s fine.

“Come on, let’s get something to drink while we’re here.” Stan releases him and smiles but Eddie can tell Stan still wants to badger him about it. He’s thankful that the other _doesn’t_, though. Because he doesn’t think he could stand talking about it knowing Stan had let his chance escape from him. Well, it’s not like they had any say in that back home but.

“Gonna steal from your friends?” He grins, following Stanley into one of the yacht’s drawing rooms. There’s a bar to one side and a couple of booths to the other. Since it’s one of the upper decks the room is smaller and cosier with a TV descended to the side of the bar from the ceiling.

“This is communism, they’re _our_ friends and this is _our_ liquor.” Stan smiles and it’s so rare to see him letting go of his up-tight persona to have some fun. It’s good to see him being happy even for a little while.

“Communism is fake.” Eddie says and accepts the glass that Stanley offers him filled with a nicely mixed gin and tonic.

“How _dare_ you!” Stan gasps but they’re both chuckling softly, letting the giggles peter out as they enjoy their drinks.

“Do you – like, want _me_ to tell him?” Stan, with his best intentions can go fuck himself.

He grunts shoving away from the bar and spinning in the chair. “Yeah, go give him a note that says _do you like me, yes or no?_”

“At this point, it might just work.” Stan tips his glass to him and Eddie clinks his own against it.

“No – no, I just need to get him alone and then – what? Why are you looking at me like that?” He grimaces at Stan’s raised eyebrows.

“All you’ve done since you’ve gotten here is gotten him alone. This is possibly the first time since I’ve been here that you’re spending actual time away from him. Even in a group of people he gravitates towards you like a lovesick puppy, Eddie.” Stan elaborates slowly, setting his glass down. “You’re attached at the hip, it’s kind-of sad.”

“I know I’m a sad fucker but like – I don’t know, something’s just... I can’t just say it. I need to get him warmed up to the idea. He’s in denial about Stan being the _best_ guy _ever_ so I’ve been talking to him about that, mostly. He just – he just says things like _oh, Stu thought I should take time off to spend with him_ and _Stu doesn’t like hanging out with the Losers so I don’t think we’ll go_ and thinks it’s normal. He can’t let Stuart control him like that? I know I don’t have any right to judge or whatever – especially since I’m not Eddie-from-here. But. But how could they have let it get this far?” He sighs, frustrated with asking the same question over and over again. The _hows_ and the _whys_ don’t really matter anymore, either. It’s what Eddie does with this information that’s important.

“I don’t know – I don’t think... I don’t think they’re as close as we were back home. They didn’t have to face Pennywise at thirteen, it didn’t shape them together like it did us.” Stan scrubs a hand over his face. “They may still be friends but – maybe the bond isn’t as strong. Maybe they don’t know each other as well as we did.”

“God, who would have thought that fighting a murder-clown at thirteen would make us better people?” He chokes on his laugh as Stan smacks his knee.

“Hey!” They both startle as Richie and Bev come spilling into the room up the stairs.

_“Stop right there criminal scum!_” Richie points, tripping over his own feet in his hurry and grabbing Eddie’s drink then downing it.

“What the fuck!?” He throws his head back in exasperation. “What is your actual problem?”

“No drinking! I need to make it up to you for today because despite what you may think, I _am_ really sorry.” Richie’s big eyes turn to him unblinking and Eddie feels all of his protests shrivel up and die inside him.

“God, you toss me off a boat, injure me, don’t take care of my wounds and now you won’t let me drown my sorrows in alcohol either.” He flops over the bar with a theatrical wail just to avoid looking at Richie’s face for the moment.

“First of all, I didn’t mean for you to get injured and I apologized. Second of all, you, and I quote: didn’t want my grimy hands anywhere near your bloodstream.” Richie points out and then tugs at him around the waist, effectively manhandling him into a backhug.

His eyes meet Stan’s and he can see the mocking that is to follow in them. He sighs and lets himself lean back into the other’s chest. “What do you want?”

“I suggested he takes you to see the turtles!” Beverly claps excitedly, mixing them some fruity drink into a big jug. “You can take the boat out to the coast of one of the islands where they’re frequently seen. Since you weren’t stoked about the shark thing. Sorry.” She shrugs easily and slides a tall glass of the drink towards Stan who takes it gratefully.

“You think it’s a good idea to let me go with him alone? After what he pulled?” He crosses his arms over his chest and he can _feel_ Richie whining against the back of his neck, cold nose and wet strands pressed against his bare skin.

“Please, please, _please!_ I promise I won’t get us in trouble!” Richie pleads, swaying them both from side to side annoyingly and Eddie swallows the scolding words that want to leave his mouth. _Be nice. Show him you care._

“Can you even drive a boat?” He asks, turning his chair around in Richie’s hold until the other’s standing there with his arms around Eddie’s neck and between his spread knees.

“Of course I can! What do you think I do out in LA in my free time?” Richie scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“He’s got a point. Not much work for a mediocre comedian.” Stan smirks into his drink as Richie gasps.

“Take that back, Staniel!” Richie points to Stan, one hand still hanging onto Eddie’s shoulders and Stan grins at them sharply, almost hissing as he says _never!_

“I call ‘em like I see ‘em, Tozier.” Stan cackles as Richie melts into Eddie’s side with a dramatic wail.

“Come on, off you go. The skies are clear for now but they’re expecting strong winds in the evening.” Beverly shoos them with her hands, smiling mischievously in a way that he doesn’t entirely like.

“Onwards, Eduardo!” Richie turns swiftly, marching towards the stairs and Eddie takes the opportunity to glare at Beverly.

“_What_ are you up to?” He whispers, leaning towards her over the bar.

“Nothing! I swear!” She holds out her palms like he needs to see them to believe her. “I just thought it would be nice if you two got to spend some more time alone without wanting to murder each other or one of you getting knocked out.” She shrugs again, hopping up to sit on the bar easily.

“Like they haven’t spent every single moment together,” Stan grunts and Eddie can see he’s getting a little fed up with them. He can’t blame the guy.

“Yeah but obviously they need more of a push. There’s a picnic basket in the boat in case you guys get hungry. We’ll be docked at the nearest island so find us there, I sent you the coordinates.” Beverly taps him on nose and then pushes him back. “Now go, don’t let him wait.”

_Don’t let him wait. Well, screwed that one up already, didn’t I?_

* * *

Much to his surprise, it turns out that Richie _can_ drive a boat. He lets himself enjoy the trip as they speed around the coastline of some of the smaller islands on an expensive speeder. The wind is a little excessive but it’s nice. And even _if_ Richie is belting out the wrong lyrics to the pop hits of 2016, he’s laughing alone and humming to the familiar tunes. It’s fun and Eddie thinks that maybe he can do it once they get to their destination. Maybe this is his chance.

They round a smaller island and pull up on some big rocky outcropping that he doesn’t know how he’s missed. It’s got a little lagoon that they throw the anchor into, both looking around amazed at the beauty of it. There’s a cave in the rocks where the little sandy shore ends that Eddie thinks will be a cool place to explore a little later and there are some palm trees haphazardly strewn about. He hopes there’s no coconut crabs. It’s beautiful and even if the temperatures are sweltering, the sea breeze chills him decently so that he doesn’t have to complain about the sun.

He drops from the side of the speeder into the knee-height water and wiggles his toes in the sand. It occurs to him that he’s not brought sunscreen so he’ll have to either endure the burns or wear his shirt unbuttoned like a douchebag to avoid sweating all of his liquids out. Oh well, not like it’s technically his body so guess Eddie-from-here will have to deal with those consequences.

“Hey, look under the back seat for the basket.” He waves at Richie who’s still messing about with the radio on the boat.

“A basket?” Richie tilts his head to him and Eddie frowns.

“Didn’t Bev tell you?” He leans against the boat, rocking it gently. “She packed us lunch.”

“And here I thought she’d just casually offered me the speeder.” Richie grumbles under his breath and Eddie snorts. Nothing Beverly did was without an ulterior motive or so it seems.

“Don’t let it touch the water,” He warns before wading over to the shore, careful not to step on any urchins or shells he sees along the way. “Put it a safe distance from the water.”

“Anything else, my liege?” Richie, putting on his best British accent, asks with a bow while holding the basket above his head precariously.

“Fuck off. Fine, I’ll do it myself.” He grunts, walking back over to where Richie was emerging from the shallows. He reaches for the basket except – expect Richie keeps it above his head, grinning like a maniac.

“If you can reach it-”

“I am going to murder you, feed your body to coconut crabs and then tell everyone you drowned and were swept away by the high tide.” He threatens, pinching Richie’s sides and causing the other to bend down. He snatches the basket away huffily, marching to one of the flatter rocks near the cave and setting it down there.

“That’s suspiciously specific, have you thought about this before?” Richie leans against the nearest palm tree, jolting as a coconut drops down in front of him.

“Oh I’ve fantasized murder many a time.” He grumbles to himself, opening the basket and sorting through the contents. It’s a standard assortment of foods like sandwiches, some pie packed in a plastic container, a light salad, a bottle of wine, lube, bottled water – _lube_?

He freezes, face heating up as he takes in the small tube of – of _edible_ lubricant that’s packed in there right next to the box of tissues – _oh god. _He darts his hand inside the basket and plucks the bottle out, swiftly he chucks it behind one of the rocks in the distance while Richie is busy poking a crab with a stick near the shoreline.

“God, what the fuck, Bev?” He mutters to himself before taking out one of the bottles of water and opening it. He takes a swig and watches Richie carefully. The taller bends down dangerously close within pinching distance and sure enough, the crab strikes out. The little critter grasps the other’s pinky finger and Richie yelps. Eddie is embarrassed to say that he snorts some of the water back out at the ridiculous sight.

“Instant karma!” He calls out and Richie’s pout is noticeable even from a distance.

“But it was so cute! You know how I love small things! Cute, cute, _cute!”_ Richie calls back, his tone pitching higher and sweeter and Eddie just rolls his eyes despite still feeling fond. He doesn’t think there’s been a moment in his life he hadn’t been _fond_ and _endeared_ around Richie. Somehow despite all the shitty jokes and the bad comedic timing, those two feelings never went away.

“Leave the wildlife alone and go get the snorkelling masks, I wanna see some damn turtles.” He kicks out immaturely, spraying Richie with sand for the nth time that day. It’s all he can do since he’d forbidden himself from actually taking shots at the other in his efforts to be _nice_.

“_Turtlesss!_” Richie claps excitedly and waddles over to the boat, leaning over and into it to fetch their masks. He looks so excited that Eddie fears he’s going to have to fake liking turtles to keep him happy. He’s not – he’s not stoked about them but if it makes Richie happy then he’ll go with it. Besides, he’s sure that seeing a couple of turtles without something going wrong, can’t he?


	6. A Rose By Any Other Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know i've been trying to get these out one chapter per week but i dont know if i'll be able to make it with an update for next week, i have a bit of the next chapter written out but some college stuff has come up so that sadly takes priority  
I hope y'all are enjoying this!  
The next two events i have planned will set the ball rolling a little faster so look forward to that!

Well, as it turns out – that’s not quite the case.

They _do_ see the turtles and that’s nice. The sea is clear enough that they see all kinds of underwater life that he’s never imagined seeing before. Richie is calm enough under the water that Eddie gets to observe the wide-eyed look of wonder that emerges on his face with every new exotic fish they spot. It’s – it’s heart-warming and heart-wrenching at the same time. He’s unbearably in love with this damn idiot that’s not even technically his idiot. But he’s still – he’s still the same, they still had the same childhood together (minus the deaths and murders) and Eddie-from-here is still very much in love with Richie.

They’re, unfortunately, so busy with the turtles that swim around them in a friendly manner near a coral reef that they don’t notice the sky darkening until they’re being rocked by increasingly violent waves.

Eddie’s the first one to notice the storm brewing and he quickly calls Richie to shore.

“Do you think we should head back?” Richie asks, shaking his entire body like a wet dog and sending cold droplets all over Eddie.

“No, I think we should get back in the water! Ignore the weather and lightning in the distance! This was a marvellous fucking idea, Richie!” Eddie screeches, the panic rising in his chest. _Oh, god,_ they _are_ gonna get stuck out here and have to resort to cannibalism!

“Well, it _seemed_ like a good idea at the time.” Richie shrugs, looking tired and resigned all of a sudden. _Great_, now he feels like a shithead.

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as the sky opens up and rain starts pouring down from it. “No. No. It’s- it’s not your fault, Rich. I’m sorry, it’s not like you could have predicted this would happen. It was fun, I loved the turtles.” He touches the other’s elbow gently to get him to look up. “Let’s get out of the rain, yeah?” Richie nods and allows Eddie to tug him towards the cave he’d seen earlier where their basket of food was stashed.

Once there, he releases Richie and goes to find the blanket at the bottom of the basket. He pulls it out and lays it down a safe distance from the mouth of the cave. The rain is pouring continually now and they can’t really sail out in those waves so they’ll just have to wait the storm out. But, by the looks of it, it’ll be a while before that happens.

“Come on, at least we can get comfortable while this shit passes.” He motions for Richie, who’s still looking glum, to sit down next to him. He pulls out the sandwiches and hands one to the taller man. Next he pulls out the salad and the plastic forks so that they can eat that with the meaty sandwiches for a nice balanced meal. Bev had taken into consideration his hatred for tomatoes and had promptly removed them from his sandwich that had been labelled with a big _E_ on the wrapper.

“How long do you think it’ll last? Will they come looking for us?” Richie asks with his mouth disgustingly full Eddie’s surprised he can understand him at all.

“That’s vile, swallow like a man.” He bites back the sharp grin he wants to release when Richie chokes a little on his mouthful. “I don’t think so. I don’t think it’ll be wise either. The tide’s coming and the waves are too strong for them to approach the shore here. If they even know where we are.” He checks his phone to see the time and is surprised to find that he’s been here with Richie for two hours already.

“So... we’re, like, stuck here until the storm passes?” Richie frowns at him like Eddie’s in charge of the weather. If only.

“Yup.” He pulls out the bottle of wine from the basket and pops it open. “Might as well make the most of it.”

“You’re – you’re oddly calm about this. Usually you’d be freaking out on me.” Richie squints at him accusingly.

He shrugs, “What? What do you know how I’d behave in a situation like this? As far as I remember, we haven’t been stuck on any deserted islands together recently.” He takes a swig from the wine bottle and smacks his lips together exaggeratedly.

“No – but, you’re – _you.” _Richie waves an accusing hand at him and then holds out his palm for the bottle.

He passes it and then flicks the other’s nose. “What’s that supposed to mean, asshole? Maybe I’m trying to fucking loosen up for once in my life because life’s short and _carpe diem_ and all that shit.”

“Oh, my god! You’re _dying!”_ Richie screeches, almost launching the bottle into the air in his efforts to grip any part of Eddie with his free hand.

Eddie gets a little choked up at that, laughing uneasily. Yeah, yeah he is. But can’t really admit that to Richie, now can he? So he plays it up and smacks Richie’s hand away with a grimace. “Don’t be a fucking idiot. I’m trying to be _nice_ to you because it’s your week. Once this is over, I’m back to kicking you when you’re down, bitch.”

Richie wrinkles his nose in distaste and takes a sip from the bottle. “That’s – oddly considerate.”

“Hey, fuck you, guy!” He grunts and snatches the bottle back. It’s good wine and it really shouldn’t be chugged like that. He wishes it was something stronger because they definitely won’t get drunk off of this but – what can you do?

“It’s a compliment, stop being a bastard.” Richie grumbles and continues shovelling salad in his mouth like it will prevent him from talking further.

He really should just tell him now and save them the effort of continuing this tirade until the wedding but Richie still seems hell-bent on marrying that infested urinal tract that is Stuart. So he’ll just have to bite his tongue and bear through a couple of more days.

“How long do you think this will last?” Richie asks after a while as they watch the sky get progressively darker.

“I don’t know. It can be anywhere from a couple of hours to days. Hopefully it passes by morning. The winds are strong so it might blow it away by then.” He shrugs, taking into account the little he knows about meteorology. It’s not like they get storms like these in New York. Well, they do, but they’re always inside when they happen.

“Well, at least we’re stuck together. I feel like this has happened before. Not like, specifically _this_, but somehow it’s always us getting separated.” Richie scratches his chin and tips the, now empty, bottle of wine upside down to see if there’s any left. Which is a stupid way to check but.

_Yeah, always me an’ you, Rich._ He thinks fondly but just shrugs in reply instead. “The rest are probably too smart to get involved with your schemes.”

“You saying you’re stupid, Eds?” Richie grins, nudging him with his shoulder.

“I’m saying, I’m your best friend and it makes sense that we’re always stuck places together.” He points out like it’s easy for him to when he’s almost certain Eddie-from-here has never uttered those words out loud.

“Shit, Eds, right in the heart!” Richie wails and clutches at his chest dramatically. “What’s with the sudden bout of honesty? If you continue like this I’ll _really_ start thinking you’re dying.”

“I don’t know, I guess I’m feeling nostalgic. Me an’ Mike are the only ones about to be single and y’all are always busy with your lives so – you know. Say nice shit to people you care about while you can. I told you, seize the fucking day.” He tries for the old excuse again and then thinks that maybe just saying that he _is _dying would be easier and excuse the possible sudden disappearance.

“Have you been seeing a therapist?” Richie asks quietly and Eddie wants to snort. Except that that’s a serious matter that shouldn’t be joked about and he – well, Alex is not necessarily a therapist and his life changing suddenly isn’t exactly a therapeutic experience but it’s easier to write his behaviour off to the fact that he _is_ seeing one. So he nods.

“I – yeah. I started seeing one a while ago and she’s really helped me work through some things and come to terms with my sexuality.”He clears his throat, very aware of his knee being entirely pressed against Richie’s bare thigh.

The rain pelts the sand outside and the thunder rumbles in the distance. It’s calming to think that they can weather the storm together like this. Maybe they really can get through anything if they stick together. What an idyllic thought, he’s worse than the 14th century poets. Petrarch can crawl into a hole and die when compared to Eddie and his pining woes. _Pathetic_.

“Do you think I need one?” Richie’s voice has taken on the serious note again and he _still_ doesn’t like hearing it. It’s odd and misplaced and he needs to make it go away because this is _not_ what the other deserves.

“I don’t know. I mean, don’t we all? I’m sure you’ve been through some shit that warrants a visit to a therapist’s office.” He responds. Maybe not a _murder-clown_ but repression is a bitch. Maybe a therapist can help shine light on his current situation as well. Even if Eddie fails, there might be a chance for the other to be happy in the end.

“I’m really sad we stopped talking after high school for a while there.” Richie switches topics as gracefully as Eddie dives into the sea off the yacht’s diving board – meaning not at all.

“Me too, Rich.” He closes his eyes, refusing to look at the lightning branching out across the sky and into the distance.

“I just – I don’t know. I keep thinking things would have probably been different if we went to NYU together like we planned.” Richie continues down memory lane that’s an entirely new alley to Eddie.

“Yeah, I – probably. I don’t know. What would you want to have gone different? Aren’t you happy now?” He lies down and untangles his legs, keeping the one still pressed to Richie’s there for comfort. He’s getting fucking sand in his hair again and he absolutely hates it. He never wants to see another grain of sand again after this.

“No – I am, of course I am! I’m about to get married, happiest day in my life and all that.” He feels Richie shift around and opens his eyes to see the other getting comfortable on the ground next to him before closing them again.

“Isn’t that the first time you visit Disneyland?” He snorts and Richie chokes on a chuckle.

“No, shut up.” Richie smacks his bare stomach and Eddie flinches, laughing. “I’m serious. Do you think you an’ me would have started a company together instead?”

“Aw, Rich, I don’t know. I don’t think you’d like running a company. I’d certainly never ask you to stop doing comedy in order to start some shitty financial advisory company with me.” He scoffs at the thought – like Richie would even want to listen to him.

“We could have – we could have opened up a comedy club together!” Richie exclaims, seemingly excited about the prospect. “And I’d be the opening act! You’d be the snarky bartender that everyone low-key drooled over and you’d get us plenty of tips and numbers!”

He chuckles at the dream fondly, it sounded real fucking good compared to everything else in both of his lives. “That what you want, Rich? Me an’ you, a couple of tables, a bar, a stage and a dream?”

“Yeah,” Richie breathes out and Eddie is terrified because he’s sure he can feel the other’s breath on his face.

“Maybe. Maybe we would have ended up doing that. It sounds cool. Better than the shit I’m doing now. I’m happy with Alex and Terrance as my partners but – it’s always been more their dream than mine.” He admits because it feels right. Even back home where he’s a risk analyst, he’s never really been happy with it. He liked crunching numbers well enough but he always thought he’d be doing something _more_ with his life. But – he’d forgotten that along with everything else, hadn’t he?

He pries his eyes open to be met with Richie’s wide look. He blinks in surprise at the intense stare the other is giving him. There’s something swirling there, something that shouldn’t be – considering Richie’s current situation. He gulps and tilts his head to the side, further into the sand.

“Rich?” He ventures delicately, hoping not to disturb this weird atmosphere.

Richie drops his head into the crook of his neck with a shuddery breath abruptly, throwing an arm and a leg over him. “I missed you.” The taller murmurs, the frames of his glasses digging into Eddie’s skin.

He gingerly places a hand onto the other’s back, rubbing up and down. “I missed you, too, Rich. It was stupid for us to split up. I’m sorry.”

Richie makes a choked up sound into his skin and Eddie shudders. “No – it’s not your fault. I was – I was stupid. I couldn’t ... so I applied for a place across the country.”

“Couldn’t _what?” _He shouldn’t push it. He doesn’t _want_ to push it but he needs to know what Richie’s thinking about because not knowing Richie’s thoughts is honestly terrifying.

“You guys were all so dead-set on what you wanted to do and everyone was going to different cities and I thought... I thought it was good, you know? We’d all get a chance to grow into ourselves and then there was me – following you to Georgia. And I couldn’t do that to you because I knew if I went with you – that I’d just end up holding you back.” Richie finishes with a sniffle and Eddie smacks around the other’s face to remove the glasses and wipe the other’s cheeks.

“Rich – you know I’d never think that you were holding me back. That’s fucking dumb.” He wishes it didn’t hurt like this – because this isn’t even his life, he didn’t go to Georgia and his Richie didn’t even finish college. This Richie, who in all essence _is_ his Richie, went to Berkeley. He finished college and got a B.A. in Film then went on to become a successful comedian almost off the bat, first try. This universe was stinkin’ lucky and Eddie-from-here had managed to be the unluckiest bastard in it.

“I know – you’d never think that, you’re too nice. But I would have felt like that and it would have killed me on the inside. I don’t – now I’m not so sure if it was such a good idea. The University of Georgia probably has a good film and media programme, I could have gone with you.” Richie’s breathing is a little irregular and Eddie’s scared that the other’s going to start hyperventilating. The thunder makes them both flinch and Richie clings to him harder.

“It’s all in the past, Rich. Maybe in another universe we went together and opened a comedy club but this isn’t hat universe so there’s no sense in crying over spilt milk.” He tries to sound casual about it but he knows he’s failed when Richie tenses up.

“You big into the multiverse theory lately, Eds?” The taller hitches his leg further up Eddie’s body and wiggles it in between his to hook it around the back of his knee annoyingly. Eddie’s heart’s in his fucking throat. How easy would it be to just say it now?

“Yeah, I guess. It’s comforting, you know? Thinking that somewhere out there we did everything we’ve ever wanted to do.” He shrugs because he can’t really tell him about the murder clown. “And maybe there’s a universe out there in which I’m some shitty desk clerk and you’re an FBI agent or something. The possibilities are literally endless.”

“That’s – very _unlike_ you but you’re right... I hope other Me’s have had better luck.” Richie giggles sweetly and Eddie kind of wants to smack him in the face. Richie-from-here’s been nothing _but_ lucky and – yeah, okay. Maybe they’ve both been idiots in denial but they still got out of Derry and kept all their limbs, too.

“Sometimes it’s good to not be yourself. _You_ can be confining, _you_ can put yourself in a box that ties you to roles that sometimes you want to break from.” He thinks about breaking the habit of internalising everything, the habit of repressing feelings and lying through his teeth about what he actually thought. He should take his own advice more often. Like, now for example. Alas.

“Woah, Eds – that’s like, _deep_.” Richie’s teeth dig into his neck with how hard he’s grinning and Eddie can’t help but match the expression. “Who’d tell you that? Your therapist?”

“Sure, yeah.” He responds because he can’t tell Richie he’s on a mission from a different universe and that he is not, in fact, himself.

“Shit, maybe I _should_ go see one, then. These are some prime life gems, whoever came up with them really _should _be making bank!” Richie’s chuckles shake them both with the way his shoulders are lifting up and down endearingly.

“Yeah, with the amount I’m paying her, she _better_ be giving out some life wisdoms that I can share with the less fortunate!” He complains for the sake of keeping the conversation going and less serious.

“Do you think I should stop being me for a while?” Richie’s shoulders settle and Eddie feels his fingers tapping restlessly against the bicep not currently trapped under Richie’s weight.

“I don’t know? Do you think you _need_ to stop being you for a while?” He asks instead of acknowledging the feeling of Richie’s lips against his neck as the other speaks in hushed tones. He hopes that Richie can’t hear the frantic beating of his heart but the taller can probably feel his pulse rabbitting. Whatever, he can write it off as being scared of the storm.

“I – I don’t think I _need_ to but I’d like to. Being me ain’t always a good thing.” Richie admits solemnly and Eddie’s heart seizes in his chest at the words. “Maybe I should become an actor? That’d be a good way to dissociate _and _make money at the same time.”

“Why would you want to? I mean, I don’t wanna sound shitty but – you know. You’re just – you’re great, Rich.” It’s easier to talk like this, cut off from everything else by the raging storm and shrouded in the dark of some dank cave that they’ll probably never visit again in their lifetime.

“Ah – yeah, I mean, _I_ might be great but my life? I don’t know about that one. There’s a lot I wish I’d done different, a lot of opportunities missed and all that.” Richie’s fingers slow their drumming until they’re just lightly caressing his skin and Eddie feels the goosebumps rising.

“Rich, we can’t spend our live looking at the _what if_s and the _if only_s. If you want something done, something changed, something achieved, you’ve gotta go and do it yourself. You can’t leave things up to chance. So maybe it doesn’t work out but at least you get to say that you tried.” He says, you know, like a hypocrite. But at least he has a plan. And he’s going to try and change things for Eddie-from-here because that’s what the right thing to do is. A little divine intervention never hurt anybody. Except all those people in the Iliad and the Odyssey but – but this is different. And not entirely _divine_ either.

“You make it sound so easy.” Richie’s deep sigh rattles his own chest.

“Well – if you could, who’d you want to be?” He looks out at the dark sky. The rain’s stopped pouring and has slowed down into a drizzle. They could probably get back now if they drove carefully. But he kind-of doesn’t want to move. If he could, he’d stay here with Richie for a long fucking time.

“I don’t know. Alex maybe, she gets to see you every day and she’s good at everything.”

The answer surprises him but he’s taken aback even more by the reasoning behind it. “What? Just because she gets to hang out with me? Rich, come on. Be realistic, pick someone cool. Like, I don’t know, some famous person.”

“Ouch. Am I not famous enough?” Richie whines and Eddie coughs out a laugh.

“You know what I meant.” He rolls his eyes at the ceiling of the cave.

“No – I don’t know. I’ve got the famous part down. She’s got – she got to be there for you when I couldn’t. I’d like to have had that more than the fame and money. I could still crack jokes while I worked in HR.” Richie seems to have fallen into a spiral of weird thoughts that Eddie can’t really follow. He also seems to be beating around what he really wants to say and Eddie is too scared to push him further down the hole.

“Richie – it’s fine. Whatever you think you missed, whatever you think you should have been there for... It’s okay. Our paths diverged, we grew up. These things happen. It’s a good fucking sign that we can fall back together like this even with all the time spent apart. You didn’t – _let me down_ or whatever it is that you think you did. You’ve gotta stop beating yourself up over it. We can try and see each other more in the future if you want but don’t feel bad about the shit in the past.” He’s trying real fucking hard not to fall apart with Richie so close to him.

Eddie-from-here had really been so blind, had been so oblivious to these things that have bothered Richie to the point where he’s back to despising the guy. Stan may have had a point about repression and child abuse but god, Eddie-from-here didn’t even _try_ to get better. Even with Alessia and Terrance and the Losers there for him, he just went on with his life like nothing bad ever happened.

Eddie wishes he’d had the privilege of _choosing_ to forget.

“Thank you.” Richie sniffles silently again and Eddie’s afraid that they’ll both just start bawling like children.

“You’re too hard on yourself.”

“I’m hard on you, right now.”

“I am going to bash your head in, I swear!”

* * *

They don’t end up going back to the yacht that evening. Instead, they lie on the slightly uncomfortable cave floor and cuddle like they’re the only two people in the world. It’s what he’s always wished for in a way, just him and Richie and Richie’s attention not divided up between all the people fawning over him. Stupid and selfish.

They fall asleep like that, too, all too-close for it to be entirely platonic but not saying anything about it – each for their own reasons. He almost wishes that Richie would say something first. But that’s not likely to happen – considering everything on top of the fact that Richie has been repressing his feelings for such a long fucking time. So he’ll have to be the one to do something still. Which is fine, it’s what he’s here for, after all.

“Is that a yacht in the distance or are you happy to see me?” Richie mumbles nonsensically as the sound of a ship horn pierces the morning air.

“Get off, my arm’s dead.” He whines as pins and needles shoot up his right side. They really hadn’t fucking moved the entire night.

“Maybe you can get a cool metal arm now, like the Winter Soldier, a gay icon.” Richie sits up and stretches, looks around blearily for his glasses.

“Last I read, he wasn’t gay.” He sniffles to try and get his nose to work properly and hopes he doesn’t get a massive cold from sleeping outside.

“Bitch, do you think he’d follow Captain America into the fray if he _didn’t _have a big fat gay crush on him? Unrealistic.” Richie turns to huff at him annoyingly and Eddie draws the parallel between them and Bucky and Cap. Well – maybe Richie’s right. He loves the other Losers, he does and he’d leap great lengths for them but he would only ever actually and willingly die for Richie. He knew that getting him out of the Deadlights would have been the end of him and he’d still done it proudly.

“You know what? Maybe you’re right.” He concedes and Richie’s grin is infectious.

“First time I’ve heard you say that. This occasion must be documented.” Richie produces his phone from somewhere to the side and snaps a picture of him so quickly that Eddie doesn’t even get to make a face at him of flip him off.

“Delete this immediately or my lawyers will be in contact.” He swats uselessly at the other as Richie snaps more photos.

“Let’s do it, baby, I know the law.” The taller grins and looks back down at the phone. And just like that, his grin disappears.

Eddie groans inwardly at the change in the other’s mood. Anyone who makes Richie this upset shouldn’t be allowed to walk the earth; should be chained to a pillar in Caucasus and have an eagle repeatedly eat their liver every day for the rest of eternity. He knows he’s going to be feeling particularly spiteful today just based on that internal statement alone.

“What’s wrong?” He ventures carefully, not wanting to upset Richie further.

“Uh? Oh, got the bars back so had an influx of messages from the Losers and – uh, Stu.” Richie clears his throat absently and stands up, dusting his shorts off. “Come on, we gotta get the speeder back to the yacht before Ben loses his shit.”

Richie doesn’t offer him a hand which is fine; he can get up on his own despite his old-man knees, but it hurts on a spiritual level because Richie had always offered him help, even when he didn’t need it, even when he waved it away. Whatever Richie had just read had to have had something to do with the wedding. It had efficiently brought Richie out of his good mood and their little intimacy bubble. What a damn shame. 

“I'm so blaming them for leaving us stranded here.” He says instead of complaining like he might have done before he’d gotten all introspective and shit. Being old sucked.

“Oh, for sure!” Richie slaps a hand against his shoulder blade and he winces at the sting.

So they get into the speeder and head for the yacht where they see Bev at the bow, leaned against the railing on the second deck and waving at them frantically. He snorts at the dramatics of it all but waves at her and enjoys the fresh air as Richie circles the yacht a couple of times for effect.

“You shitheads! We were fucking worried!” She barrels into the both of them the moment they step onto the boat and they take the hug easily, lifting her between them like she weighs nothing.

“Yeah, so worried that _you left us there!”_ Richie says pointedly, pouting at Ben over her shoulder who is looking pretty sheepish in all of his Brazilian-football-player-like glory.

“We had to dock at a nearby resort when the storm hit, we couldn’t move because of the debris after and had to wait until morning for them to clear the small bay out.” Ben explains in a voice that sounds genuinely sorry and Eddie can’t really be mad at him.

“Did you do it!?” Stan comes in shouting down the stairs and Eddie, panicked from hearing the words, rushes to meet him, taking them both up the stairs in a show that must be very confusing for everyone else.

“Shut the fuck up, Stanley!” He hisses, smacking a hand over Stan’s unruly and shit-eating grin.

“Do what?” Richie peeks around the corner and into the stairwell and Eddie releases Stan, daring him to say anything with a mighty glare.

“Oh, I was wondering if you had seen and swam with the turtles.” Stan says in a voice that’s entirely too robotic and fake and Eddie wants to throttle him.

“Huh, oh, yeah. They were super cool but I don't know if they were worth getting stuck on an island in a storm for.” Richie runs a hand through his hair and adjusts his glasses before leaning into Eddie’s back easily.

“Oh, you poor soul, did Eddie complain the entire time? I bet he did. I'm so sorry for the loss of your brain cells.” Beverly says in passing, patting Eddie on the head condescendingly and he seethes at all of his friends being dicks.

“Nah, he was surprisingly chill about it. Gave me the whole _carpe diem_ spiel and had me worried he was dying for a bit there!” Richie throws a hand around his waist and puts his chin on top of Eddie’s head. He feels safe and ridiculed all at the same time.

His eyes meet Stan’s and the man looks a little paler than he did a moment ago, hands gripping the edge of his shirt. “Ha, that’s _funny_; Rich, no one’s going to fall for that one.”

“I'm serious!” Richie whines, unaware of the discomfort he’s causing the two _not-from-here_s. “I was all like, _if you’re dying can you get me in your will?_ _I want your sweet car and the apartment you have in Monaco_.”

He shakes off the unease and wiggles out of Richie’s hold. “You only want me for my earthly possessions, I'm gonna go hang out with Stan who’s only ever wanted me for my sparkling personality and my ability to make a killer omelette!” He declares, pushing Stan up the stairs and onto one of the inner decks.

“No! Eddie, babe, come back! I don’t only want you for your money; I want you for your six pack, too!” Richie shouts after them with a cackle but he’d already managed to get Stan to walk with him hurriedly somewhere private.

“Don’t tell me you told him you were _dying_ and not that you _love_ him!” Stan hisses, presumably aggravated at being manhandled.

“I didn’t tell him I'm dying! I'm not a complete fucking idiot!” He crosses his arms over his chest, grip tight and feeling rather annoyed at the amount of faith Stan didn’t seem to have in him.

“You need to tone it down with the _seize the day_ bullcrap, they’ll start thinking you’ve gone clinically insane.” Stan reasons, huffing at him like he’s a child.

“Easier to explain that than what’s actually going on.” He snorts, plopping down into a cushy armchair and watching Stan pace. “But no, I didn’t do either. We talked about some heavy shit and I – I don't think he’s as happy as he’s trying to appear. He’s fucking miserable, Stan, I hate it.”

Stan pauses, eyeing him warily and then nods. “I know. I’ve – I’ve noticed it, too. Everyone else seems preoccupied but – yeah. Sometimes his entire body just droops and I can fucking _feel_ the sadness coming off him in waves.”

“He’s hung up on the past. I don't think he wants to be here at all. He – I don't think he wants to marry Stuart.” He says it to test it out and it still _feels_ selfish. But it sounds – it sounds like the truth.

“Yeah, no shit.” Stan laughs bitterly. “He’s only ever had eyes for you, Eddie. Of course he doesn’t want to marry some guy he met at a party in Hollywood. Don't you know Californians ain’t shit?”

“_Men_ ain’t shit.” He amends cheekily and Stan thwacks him on the forehead.

“One could argue that _Richie_ ain’t shit but love is fucking blind so I guess there’s that.” Stan’s grin is charming and self-satisfied as Eddie bristles at the words.

“Yeah, yeah, I know he’s a garbage-dweller. You don’t have to rub it in.” He rolls his eyes and sinks deeper into the armchair, thinking about their conversation yesterday.

“I know I’ve said that they’re lucky but – but they’ve all definitely had different problems than we did. In a way, we – well, the Losers remaining – get to reform themselves and grow up all over again while these people here are stuck being what they are. Back home, they get a second chance at being happy.” He looks at Stan warily and thinks about how he loves his wife and probably wouldn’t do anything with his second chance even if he’d survived.

Stan looks away from him, nodding his head. “The Losers left are the bravest of us all. If anyone will know what to do with a second chance, it’s them.”

The words settle over him uneasily. He’d like to think, after all of Richie’s convincing, that he’d been brave in his last moments. He’d like to think Stan had been brave, too. But he doesn’t know. All he knows is the kid Stan used to be, the curly-haired, straight-laced model student. The kid that had followed Bill into the belly of the beast even as he protested vehemently all the way there. The kid that was wise beyond his years even at thirteen. The friend everyone could turn to and the friend they’d all taken for granted sometimes. He wishes they’d all been better friends to him.

He wants to ask _why_ again but he’s afraid of the answer. So he doesn’t ask and just agrees silently with the other. Those left will move on easily, mourning their loss but eventually getting their legs back under them and making good of their newfound Pennywise-free lives.

* * *

He gets roped into eating lunch with Bill and Audra – and, of course, Richie. He doesn’t know why the fuck he’d agreed to this. He doesn’t know anything about this Bill and his actress wife; he’s going to be fumbling through the entirety of the meal. Either that or fighting Richie’s hands off when he inevitably tries to steal food from him.

He goes back to the cabin after they arrive at the resort and is faced with Alex’s blank expression as she opens the door for him.

“And where exactly were _you,_ young man?” She refuses to move from the doorway and he whines, very tired all of a sudden. He wants to crawl into bed and sleep for three days straight. But, life has other plans for him.

“Lemme in, I need to change.” He tilts forward, leaning into her and her composure breaks, giggles leaving her mouth as she envelops him in a hug.

“There, there. Did you have fun being stranded?” She pats his back harshly and he wheezes.

“No, I mean – yeah. I don’t know. It was nice being there with Rich but we talked about some heavy shit so that soured the mood.” He admits, _still_ thinking about the actual weight of their conversation – the unsaid words that hang like clouds over them still.

“You two and your deep and meaningful conversations.” She sighs and releases him. “Go shower and get changed. You stink like a sea slug.”

“Gee, thanks.” He shuffles inside across the lightwood floors towards the bathroom where the rainforest shower is. He gets in and decidedly doesn’t think about the bruise Richie had pressed into his left bicep during their little island getaway. 

He hopes Bill keeps his opinions on Eddie’s love life to himself during the lunch. It’s not likely, but the writer will probably keep it subtle or metaphorical at least – and _that_ terrifies him even more because there’s a slight chance that it _doesn’t_ fly over Richie’s head. And then where will they be? At an awkward standstill where he’ll get kicked off the attendees list and Richie will never want to speak to him again.

He rubs his skin raw in the shower trying to get the last of the crusted salt off his skin. He’s pink and feeling like a steamed dumpling by the time he’s done and he finds Richie lying on his bed once he exits the bathroom. He freezes, gripping the towel around his waist to secure it lest they have an _incident_.

“Didn’t I _just_ see you like ten minutes ago?” He grumbles, crouching next to his suitcase (because he refuses to put his clothes away in the provided dresser) and rifling through his belongings to find a fresh pair of briefs.

“Yeah! And those ten minutes without you have been the most painful ten minutes in my life, Eddie, my love!” Richie rolls on the sheets so that he’s facing Eddie and Eddie fights the urge to blush under the scrutiny.

“Well, gee, Rich. Why didn’t you just say so? I would have invited you to shower with me if I’d’ve known!” He grins at the other innocently and takes great satisfaction at the way Richie’s eyes go round behind his glasses.

“Damn, Eds, that’s a little forward for you. Keep talking like that and I might start thinking you’re serious!” Richie tries to choke out a laugh but Eddie knows he’s got him flustered. He doesn’t respond verbally, just raises an eyebrow and stands up, hands on his hips. Richie blinks at him rapidly and then quickly averts his gaze, dropping to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling.

_Idiot,_ Eddie shakes his head and turns back to the bathroom. He feels Richie’s eyes on him as he saunters away like a physical caress and if he were any younger he’d be sporting a semi from that feeling alone. God, they’re both so fucked up.

When he comes back out again, Richie is sitting at the edge of the bed frowning at his phone. Eddie wants to take it and throw it out into the water so that whoever (Stuart) is texting him can’t make him sad anymore. But that’s just wishful thinking on Eddie’s part, unfortunately.

“Ready to go?” He asks instead of acting on his impulses like he probably should.

Richie looks up and pockets the phone with a determined slant to his frowning mouth. “Yup, can’t keep Billy and Audra waiting. They’re celebrities, you know.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. Well, this lunch is either going to be great for them or it’s going to be absolutely terrible for Eddie. It’s 50/50, much like all things in life.


	7. Entourage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Managed to squeeze some more filler into this chap and i started writing the next so itll be up next week this time probably   
Stay tuned and i hope u like the story so far!

The first thing out of Audra’s mouth as they sit down is _‘oh, I’ve always wanted to go on a double date!’_ and it sets the tone for the rest of their lunch. Bill splutters at her statement but Eddie just smiles sweetly at the gorgeous woman. Richie, as he is wont to do, takes it in stride and throws an arm over Eddie’s shoulders.

“Billiam! Why haven’t you taken your wonderful wife to any double dates?! Why, if I had a significant other that beautiful, I would be dying to show her off!” The comedian boasts with an exaggerated tone and Eddie rolls his eyes, withholding his comments to himself. “Instead, I'm stuck with Eddie and his grumpy face. I mean, sure, he’s got a great bod but I can't take him to lunch with my co-workers shirtless!”

Audra giggles at that, covering her mouth with her hand again. She’s very polite, if a little uptight. But Eddie likes her well enough, he knows she has to be careful when she’s out an about due to the nature of her work and that sometimes professional deformities cross over into personal life as well. So he doesn’t blame her for being careful even though he doubts there are any paparazzi here, there might still be fans milling around.

“We don’t usually associate with other, ugh, celebrities.” Bill rolls his eyes and Eddie’s startled to find that this Bill lacks the stutter.

“It’s because Bill always gets yelled at for his opinions on cult classics.” Audra informs them as a waitress comes around with their menus.

“All I'm saying is – they’re not _that_ good.” Bill grunts and shoots Eddie a look like he’d understand. He has no freaking idea what the other’s referring to but he nods anyway, playing the card of the supportive friend.

“Thread lightly, Billy the Kid, the showbiz is a fickle swamp.” Richie says sagely, pushing his glasses up his nose. “How’s Georgie? I'm sad he couldn’t make it.”

Eddie’s entire body freezes at the mention of Bill’s younger brother. He’d forgotten. He’d forgotten how they’d even ended up entangled with that damn clown in the first place – they went looking for Georgie. And of course, it makes sense that Bill’s younger brother would be alive in this universe. Because there’s no freaking Pennywise the Maneating Clown here. Oh, god he hopes he’s not making the face he wants to be making. He forces himself to focus on the pages of the menu – he doesn’t know what any of these dishes are but he doesn’t care.

“Yeah, he wanted to make it but the whole Doctors Without Borders thing’s really got him deep in the heart of Africa at the moment. He sends his best wishes, though. I'm sad I don't get to speak with him much because he’s always so busy but he’s doing what he loves.” Bill smiles fondly and Eddie’s chest shakes from the inside at the thought of what could have been if Pennywise didn’t exist back home either.

And all of them are so amazing. And they all came from the same little shitty place called Derry. And in this shitty universe with no Pennywise and no curse to give them a boost – they still managed to do great things, things they wanted to do. It goes to show that they really were the only ones that could defeat Pennywise in the end.

They order some shit that he still doesn’t recognize but Richie had sworn up and down was some good fucking food. So he decided to trust him on this one and ordered the complicated sounding dish. Bill had ordered a bottle of some French wine that arrived before the food did and poured each of them a tall glass.

“As I was saying,” Audra takes a sip of her wine and grimaces, apparently not liking the fancy red. “You two have been off and about this entire time! We barely got a chance to speak with either of you since we arrived!”

Bill freezes a little, tilting his head and staring pointedly at Eddie. And Eddie gets it, he really does. They’re obviously unsubtle but Audra is ready to attack and, apparently, _everyone_ seemed to agree that Stuart wasn’t the one Richie should be marrying. It was both reassuring and terrifying all at once.

“Don’t be silly, hon, sure they’ve hung around with us.” Bill laughs awkwardly, not wanting to push the matter because he knows what Eddie’s doing. Surely, Beverly and Stan had talked to him. But not Audra apparently.

Because she just hums, “I don’t know. Maybe for five to ten minutes at a time sure, but you two just seem to disappear on your own!” She chirps, the innocent look in her eye disappearing the moment she meets gazes with Eddie and quirks an eyebrow at him. _Oh_, so she’s well aware then. Awesome.

He feels his cheeks heating and he chances a glance at Richie whose cheeks are puffed out as he stares down at his glass. He clears his throat. “It’s been a while since Richie and I have seen each other. I don’t really like texting and – you know, we’re both busy so phone calls are rare.” He tries to defend their dignity, to get Audra to drop it for now.

“Awh, it’s a shame you live so far away. If you were in LA like us, you’d be able to hang out more often.” She folds her hands onto her chest and bats her eyelashes at him. Oh, she’s very good.

“Eds hates LA.” Richie, finally managing to join the conversation, points out. “Hates the social pressure of it. It’s not corporate enough. He’s all about that brutalism architecture; the building his company owns is a monument to corporate America.”

He doesn’t hate LA. He’s never been to LA. He’s seen it in movies and in the news. He thinks it’s overpriced and overrated but he can admit that there is an appeal to the West Coast. Never being actually cold, for one. He hated New York weather, hated it from the bottom of his heart – even more so than the public transportation there. But that’s not important now. Eddie-from-here apparently hated LA – or at least pretended to. It was probably another one of those things Eddie-from-here had told himself to keep his distance from Richie and his feelings.

“It’s whatever.” He amends. “I hate the people there – the general public and the mindset of the locals. But it’s a big city, I’m sure I could find a quiet patch of beach somewhere to call my own if I tried.” He makes direct eye contact with Bill, knowing exactly what he sounds like, feeling lucky that he’s sitting next to Richie and not across him. Bill snorts into his wine and Audra nods her head animatedly.

“The neighbourhood we live in is super quiet! But, I know with the company and everything it would be difficult to move it.” She sighs solemnly and Eddie grimaces, they’re all being so obvious and Richie’s still not saying anything.

“Well – we have a branch out in the city already. Investment banking in LA and Corporate Finance in New York. Only Terrance is based solely in Detroit. I don’t visit often but Alex flies out to New York sometimes. I could probably shift the main office there if I wanted to. Hypothetically speaking, of course.” He smiles back at Audra’s encouraging grin. He sees Bill give a fond eye roll before looking towards Richie, looking to engage him in the conversation.

He can feel Richie tense next to him, their shoulders brushing every time they shift in their chairs. He doesn’t want to look and see the expression on his face but he’s sure that Richie is uncomfortable with the conversation for one reason or another.

“You’re looking to sell your house, yeah?” Bill asks, and bless him but he’s making it worse. He grimaces again, this time behind his glass of wine; none of these people know how to talk to Richie without upsetting him. He won’t show it, of course, but Eddie knows better than that.

“Yeah, ah. In theory. I haven’t gotten around to hiring a realtor or anything but yeah, I’ll be selling it in the future. It’s a nice place, I hate seeing it waste away since I’m living with Stu.” Richie drums his fingers along the table and Eddie sees his face reflected in his glass, mouth pinched awkwardly.

“Oh, such a shame. It’s such a beautiful beachfront property.” Audra nods her head, sympathy dripping from her words but Eddie knows she has a hidden agenda. Which is to, apparently, provoke Richie into storming off.

“Speaking of beaches,” He jumps in. “We went past the venue spot yesterday. What did you guys think? The whole island formation is breathtaking.” He leans forward, pretending to be interested in their opinion on _sand_ and _water._

“Oh, yes! The Maldives are have always been one of my favourite spots! I love that we got married in Paris which was super romantic but I wish our schedule allowed for us to have a wedding at the seaside somewhere. I always wanted Bali or something.” She sighs wistfully and Bill draws into himself, looking a little startled at the focus shifting from Richie and Him to them so suddenly.

“Honestly, we were just talking about this with Ben the other day. I would be good with whatever, you know? It doesn’t really matter where as long as it’s the person I want to spend the rest of my life with next to me. It could be a super exotic location or it could be in a shitty dive bar somewhere in Las Vegas. If you get what I’m saying.” He waves a hand around vaguely, trying to push his point forward that this whole _Maldives ordeal_ was stupid.

“Oh, that’s sweet! Unfortunately, our publicist would have had our heads on a plate if we just eloped!” Audra snorts, rolling her eyes at the thought.

“She’s not that bad. Besides, we had fun in Paris.” Bill whines, patting her leg under the table. “And I think we should have worried more about your parents castrating me if eloped than Vanessa beheading us.”

Audra shoots him a put-upon look and leans into his shoulder, lacing their hands together. “That’s true but it doesn’t mean you should say it.”

The easy familiarity, the companionship, the intimacy in simple gestures – Eddie _yearns_ more than he probably should. And technically, he could lean into Richie, they’re already brushing up against each other. But it seems like here, in this faux double date scenario, it would mean more. He shakes off the residual touch-starved tendencies that rise from the back of his mind and goes back to casting his eyes around the room.

“I don’t think I’ve asked – you’ve met the in-laws, right? What are they like?” Bill leans forward, eager for a good story but Eddie knows that Richie won’t deliver this time. If it has to do with Stuart, Richie will either deflect and make a stupid joke or shut down and – well, change topics fast and tactlessly. He’s seen Bev and Mike try to talk to him about it during either lunch or their downtime and the result was always the same: Richie would go stock still before forcing himself to relax and grin. And he despises these losers a little, mostly for being so unaware of how Richie functions on the whole.

One thing he prides himself on (besides his cleanliness and personal hygiene) is his ability to read Richie Tozier like an open book. It’s good that his ability translated to this Richie as well, otherwise he would have been lost to it all.

“Come on, Big Bill, they’re in-laws _and_ they’re from Cali, born and bread. You can imagine what they’re like.” He scoffs and Richie knocks their knees together in silent appreciation.

“That’s fair.” Bill chuckles and opens his mouth to ask another stupid question about the wedding probably but Audra grips his wrist with sharp nails and he clams up.

“Oh! I was going to ask but I never got around to it! I saw your last special recently while I was catching up on what I’ve missed in popular culture and that bit about being on SNL, was that true?” She wiggles in her seat and just like that, Richie is back on stable footing.

The taller launches into the story, re-telling the bit from the Special and a couple of other jokes and the process that went into it. And now that he’s finally in his element, Eddie can relax and enjoy the ride. He can watch Richie tell his many stories in as many voices and be happy that he’d managed to bring out the other’s grin again.

Their food arrives soon enough and in the middle of Richie’s spiel but that doesn’t stop him from continuing in similar fashion. He chimes in occasionally but he lets Richie lead the show and enjoys it immensely. The taller engages Audra and Bill in a way he never could and he’s both proud and a little jealous.

By the time they’re finishing up their lunch, he’s listened to Richie talk animatedly for over two hours. Audra has relaxed enough to let her exuberant laughs loose whenever Richie blurts out some bit of comedic genius. She sighs happily as she puts away the last bit of her fish dish and places her fork down. 

“This was such fun! It’s been a while since we just relaxed like this. Sometimes I miss the – _young adult life_, you know? Like, I know Billy was a party maniac in his college days but I started acting way before then. I never got to experience it.” She leans into Bill’s side again, glimmery eyes dramatic and wistful and Eddie suddenly gets a very bad feeling about all of this.

“Oh! Oh, we should super go to Male and hit the clubs!” Richie slams both hands onto the table and rattles the silverware.

“No!”

“No.”

Both Bill and Eddie exclaim at the same time, equally as horrified at the idea of being the _old people_ at the club. They’re _bar_ people, they’re not _nightclub_ people. They drink beers and sometimes whiskey, they don’t do shots and colourful cocktails. Eddie is _definitely_ too old to be attending such a thing even if he doesn’t necessarily look it. The thought of all those sweaty bodies all around him makes his skin itch uncomfortably.

“Oh, yes!” Audra claps her hands together and pulls out her phone. “I’m texting Bev so she can make plans!”

“Hell yes!” Richie pumps his fist into the air.

“God, this is stupid! We’re grown adults! Why the hell would we go clubbing?!” He protests vehemently, thinking about all the alcohol he’ll need to consume to get through the evening sane. Though, that in and of itself is A Dangerous Combination. Because he doesn’t drink often and really – he doesn’t drink to get drunk at all. But when he does, from what he remembers, his already faltering filter becomes practically non-existent.

“Come on, Spaghetti Man, we never got to do this together in college! It’s now or never, midlife crisis time, baby!” Richie croons at him, patting his cheek with a large hand lovingly and Eddie smacks him away with a grumble.

“You’re going to die of liver cirrhosis.” He tells the other bluntly and Richie cackles, almost falling out of his chair.

“Aw, Eddie, please. I promise you’ll have fun!” Audra pouts at him and he should really have built up more of a resistance to pouting faces – considering all of his friends (including himself) were masters of the puppy eyes but. But he feels – guilty? He feels like he owes it to these people to not be a giant stick in the mud. So he sighs and leans back, away from Richie’s prodding fingers.

“Fine.” He grunts and Richie makes a distressed sound.

“What!? Scandalous! _You have fallen under her wretched spell when I could not have coaxed an answer from you? What sort of cursed witchcraft is this?!_” The funnyman proclaims in one of his voices, doing his best to sound British and admittedly achieving it.

“Burn the witch!” Bill cheers and Audra smacks him on the head lightly.

She then claps her hands together, “Excellent! Let’s go prepare then!”

And just like that, they pay for their meal and walk out into the midday sun, ready to make the trip to Male and get absolutely destroyed while acting like a bunch of teenagers. He’s going to hate this.

* * *

Alex makes him rip his _jorts_. Not in that accidental way down the middle of his ass either, no. She makes artful rips along the front of the dark denim and then does something to the cuts with her tweezers to pull out the strands of thread.

“Here, put them on.” She shoves the shorts at him and he rolls his eyes, dropping his trunks and pulling on the offered article of clothing. It looks – it looks like something that belongs on some college student that’s shopping at the Mall™. He frowns at them, they’re a little long at the knee and he can see his thighs through the rips. He feels entirely out of his element.

“Hm.” She eyes him critically and then steps closer, pulling two safety pins out of thin air and rolling up the shorts until they’re above his knee, pinning them to stay in place where the pins can’t be seen. “Better.”

“I don’t – why couldn’t I have just gone in them as they were? Instead you ruined a perfectly good pair of black jean shorts.” He sighs heavily, hands on his hips.

“It’s called _fashion_, Eddie. Without your _annoyed dad look_ you can pass for, like, a thirty-year-old.” She hands him a black, short-sleeved button up with some pale pink flowers scattered over it artfully. He wrinkles his nose at it but throws it on because he’ll trust her on this one.

“Why would I need to do that?” He asks, buttoning the shirt all the way up like he normally would.

She bats his hands away and undoes the first four buttons. “_Because_, you’re trying to attract attention of gorgeous young tourists.”

He scoffs, mostly at himself but also at the notion. “And why would I want to do _that?” _

“_Because_, we’re gonna show Richie what he’s missing out on.” She stands back, looking around the room before fetching one of her sleek watches and fastening it around his wrist.

“I thought that was the whole point of this? He _knows_ what he’s missing. He knows... Eddie-from-here seems to have made it quite clear.” He sighs, looking down at the simplistic _Vincero_ watch.

“No, no. You got it all wrong. He knows what Eddie-from-here has to offer but he’ll never get. But he doesn’t know what _you,_ a proud queer Eddie-from-the-cave have to put out into the world. He’s never seen you in action. Eddie – my Eddie, he wasn’t much of a dancer or a _dresser-upper._ This is a new and enticing Eddie that Richie hasn’t had the chance to see before. Because suddenly,” She grabs his cheeks and stares deep into his eyes like she’s trying to glare at his soul. “Suddenly there’s so much more on offer than before.”

“I’m not a damn _buffet_, Alex.” He grumbles but knows that she’s right. Because he’s not this Richie’s Eddie as much as this Richie isn’t his Richie. But he’ll make it work for Eddie-from-here. Because every Richie deserves happiness even if it’s not with him. Because ultimately, he deserves better than fucking _Stuart._

“No, but you’re a whole-ass meal _and_ a snack!” She hits him on the back rather forcefully and he stumbles.

“That’s stupid, stop it.” He refuses to let himself blush because he is above look-based compliments.

“This is gonna be a fucking disaster, not gonna lie.” Alex sighs and then goes about putting on the rest of her outfit. He doesn’t know much about fashion, as previously established, but he thinks she looks nice in her black skirt and gold-laced, sequinned, spaghetti-strapped crop top.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He sits down onto the bed, fiddling with the loose denim strands on his new-old shorts.

“Oh, no, I'm not talking about you – well, solely. Have you ever seen _The Hangover? _Any of the parts?_”_ She laughs and turns to face him again. “You think college kids get up to no good when smashed but legal adults are _so_ much worse. Mostly because they have actual disposable funds and a real ID.”

“That’s actually a pretty valid reason, wow. This _is_ going to be a shitshow.” He slumps back against the bed, staring at the ceiling like it had personally offended it. He’s about to complain some more but then there’s a knock on the door, three swift and pointed sounds, and Richie is barging in without waiting for a reply.

“We’re NAKED!” Alex bellows, grin feral as Richie twitches back violently enough for one of his knees to give out, causing him to drop onto the ground in shock.

“Alex!” He grunts in surprise, springing to his feet and rushing over to where Richie was still stunned motionless.

“Wow, that’s some welcome.” The fallen comrade rubs at his hip.

“That’ll teach you to barge in without waiting. What if we _were_ really naked, huh?” She stares at him accusingly and Richie’s mouth stretches into an expression of discontent, eyes wide and innocent-looking.

“Sorry, Ma’am.” Richie mumbles and Alex shakes her head.

“Knock, and then wait, dingus.” She picks up her makeup bag and heads for the bathroom. “You better not change out of those shorts while I’m gone or I _will_ force them back on you.”

He straightens up and salutes her mockingly, resulting in her flipping him the bird. He shakes his head fondly and offers a hand out to Richie, hauling him up with surprising ease. “Up you go, old man.”

“She’s mean.” Richie whines at him and then seemingly freezes, poised halfway down his descent into the nearest armchair. “Dude, what are you _wearing_?”

He grumbles, looking down at himself and tugging at the shirt hem self-consciously. He knows this isn’t exactly _his style_ but he doesn’t think he looks _bad_. “I let Alex dress me up because I, apparently, _have no sense of style_. What’s wrong? Is it awful?” He spreads his arms out and twists at the waist to check the back of the ripped jean shorts.

“U-uh, no. Nope. Not bad at all!” Richie manages to get out and Eddie raises an eyebrow at him. Interesting.

He cocks his hip. “What? No snide comments about _showing cleavage like an escort_ or _showing leg like an underwear model_? This is stupid, you can see my fucking underwear through the rips.” He thumbs at the hole nearest to his crotch purposefully and notices that Richie had gone deadly silent across from him.

“No - ah, I think it’s a nice outfit.” Richie finally manages to respond after what seems like too long. And, honestly? Alex might have been right earlier, dressing up like he means to look hot _is _empowering. He quite enjoys rendering Richie Trashmouth Tozier speechless.

“Just _nice_? I was going for _hot_ or even _sexy.”_ He pretends to be disappointed, “Oh well, guess it’ll have to do.”

“What? Why?” Richie startles and he hopes he manages to keep his _are you really asking that_ look off his face.

“_Because,_” He copies Alessia’s earlier inflection, “I wanna have a good time. It’s been ages since I’ve gone out and – I’ve never gone out while _being out._ So I might as well enjoy myself if I’m being dragged to a club without my consent.” He doesn’t necessarily _want_ to hook up with anyone but he won’t be opposed to exploring his new willingness to smack on some handsome guys while they’re there. 

“Uh? Oh. Makes – makes sense.” Richie wrings his hands together, looking oddly unsure of himself.

Eddie feels a little bad for being the cause of this look. But he can’t – he can’t really back out now. He’s got goals set and Alex is adamant in her pursuit in his stead. Of course he wants to accomplish what he set out to do, as well, but – not if it causes Richie _emotional_ _damage_ or whatever.

“Rich,” He approaches the other and ruffles his hair playfully. “Don’t worry, we won’t ditch you during the night, I promise. If anything, Mike and Stan will lose their mind trying to look out for you. And me, probably. God, I haven’t gotten drunk in ages.” He laments sadly, not counting on the fact that Eddie-from-here drank himself into a coma just a few weeks ago.

“Promise?” Richie looks up at him with his big eyes and Eddie nods enthusiastically.

“Promise, promise.” He squishes the other’s cheeks and pushes him away. “Come on, let’s get to the boat. I need a shot to settle my nerves.” He turns around to slam a palm against the bathroom door that springs open a moment later. A furious-looking Alex faces him, a red line smeared from her upper lip sideways. He tries hard not to start laughing but a snort makes it out of him despite his best efforts.

“Something on my face, Kaspbrak?” She growls lowly and he shakes his head frantically.

“No, nope. Just wanted to let you know that we’ll meet you on the yacht!” He salutes her and gets the hell out of dodge lest she decides he’s in need of an ass-whooping.

“Yeah, you better run!” She slams the door closed again and he snickers under his breath.

“You two are ridiculous.” Richie shakes his head fondly.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.”

* * *

It’s terrible. He doesn’t know why he signed up for this. And they’re not even in Male yet. 

They get to the yacht and Beverly decides that it’s a brilliant idea to start with_ pre-gaming _like they’re _teenagers._ So she puts on some music and starts pouring shots like it’s her damn job. And, okay, he’s no lightweight – not like Stan who refuses to take more than two shots even as his wife downs them like a champion – but at the rate that they’re going, they won’t be able to step foot off the boat due to intoxication. It’s quite the crowd of them, too, and when they finally depart for Male, they all push towards the second deck to watch the boat thread the water at an increasing speed. 

Beverly’s got the bottle of something _vile_ within her flailing hands and Richie’s hugging a bottle of blueberry flavoured schnapps to his chest like it’s a life-saver. Angela, Patty and Audra are huddled around a bottle of red, conspiring about something or other and Alex has managed to engage Mike and Bill in a discussion about indie movies. 

Stan is next to him, a little mellowed by the shots and the beer he’s nursing if his loose posture is anything to go off of and Eddie is feeling a little woozy himself. It’ll definitely fade by the time they get to the city if he opts not to consume anything else by that time – but Beverly is already shoving the vile bottle at anyone who’s willing to look her in the eye – and at this point, it’s only Ben that’s indulging her fully.

“This is nice.” He says aimlessly.

Stan scoffs, “We’re too old and too dead for this.”

He shudders – it’s true. They’re both here for a limited time only and they’re trying to do the most within this given limit. Getting blackout drunk might be a little counterproductive.

“But we’re also quick to indulge them and make them happy.” He responds with the truth and Stan hums. Eddie can see that his gaze is pointed at where Bill is almost falling out of the deck chair with how hard he’s laughing at some impression that Alex is doing. He tilts his head, _huh. _In retrospect, even with the grumpy nature and cutting-edge honesty, he can see why Eddie-from-here had befriended her. She’s a lot like Richie in certain aspects and he supposes that Eddie-from-here had missed someone that complemented him as fully as Richie does. So he’d ended up befriending the next best thing. Not to say that she was in any way lesser than Richie but that she’s her own person with similar characteristics that just so happened to draw Eddie in.

“This is going to suck. I hate loud music and Patty gets sleepy when she drinks too much. We’ll probably be the first ones back on the Yacht.” Stan rubs a hand over his face, scratching at the scruff of his trimmed beard.

“It’s – _god_,” He realizes what this night is leading up to. “I’ll have to sober up and watch over Richie.” He squints at where the taller is throwing back a shot without using his hands – a practiced move. He shudders as he remembers his-Richie doing the same back in Derry, at that damn _Jade of the Orient_. 

“You think he’s gonna do something stupid?” Stan leans against him a little like he’s tired which is concerning when the night’s only just begun.

“It’s Richie, you never know.” Staying sober would be counterproductive to his mission of relaxing and letting loose for once but he can’t really relax when he knows what kinds of dangers are out there and when Richie is bound to do something fucking dumb eventually.

“Probably a good idea.” Stan nods wisely and then, much to Eddie’s surprise, slides him two of the shots he’d failed to take when Beverly was handing them out – the ones he’d been hiding away from her and pretending to have drank them. “Here’s to not doing stupid shit tonight.” Stan takes one of the shots and Eddie takes the other, they bump their glasses together and throw back the liquor.

One thing was for certain, Eddie is either not going to forget this night for the rest of his life (as short as that might be) or he’s not going to remember it in the morning at all. Only time will tell which one it will be but he hopes that he doesn’t do anything stupid. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing the part where they get smashed but then i had a violent throwback to two nights ago when /i/ got smashed and had to stop because pelinkovac is poison for the liver.


	8. Turkish Delight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little late but better than never eyyy???  
Anyway! Enjoy me rambling too much about feelings and other shit that's probably irelevant to the actual plot!  
We love a pining king, pray for Richie.

His vision is swimming as they stand in the cue, waiting to pay to enter the already thrumming club. The back of his head is tingling, he’s feeling rather unstable as he sways and maybe he shouldn’t have taken that tequila shot after everything else they’ve already had. Bev is next to him, bouncing excitedly and droning on about all the songs she likes that are popular now. Ben is trying to hold her down with an arm around her waist but she seems to be and endless ball of energy that can’t be detained. The music is loud from the outside and he can't begin to imagine the bass thumping through his chest any harder than it already is. But they're going in. And Richie is latched onto his back like a particularly clingy marsupial, so he has to keep calm for the both of them.

Alex eyes him from where she's standing next to Angela and Audra, she has her eyebrow raised – still remarkably sober even after all that they’ve ingested. He gulps and looks down at the money in his hands, a hastily exchanged bundle of cash he'd gotten at the airport for a twenty when he’d arrived. He shakes off the nerves that grip him at the prospect of going inside and relaxes back against Richie. He's done this in college – _at_ _least_ three times. Nothing has to happen if he doesn't want it to.

“You ready to let loose?” Stan asks, eyes sparkling and squinted with mirth. It’s good to see him so relaxed and smiling, hugging Patricia to keep her out of Audra’s reach because the brunette is trying to tickle everyone and causing a commotion.

“No but at this point, what can go wrong?”

_Famous last words, right there next to ‘fucked your mom’. _

It’s as crowded as he thought it would be.

Beverly heads straight for the table that she’d previously reserved, pushing through the undulating mass of people expertly. It’s located in a corner on a raised platform and already has a bottle of something strong on ice in a bucket in the middle. There’s a weird corner sofa stretching around it and along the wall that looks very uncomfortable. Overall, it’s a good position to be seated in since it overlooks the dance floor which means Eddie will be able to scour the crowd for the Losers once they inevitably disperse into the mass of gyrating bodies.

He plops himself down and wiggles until there’s room for everyone to squeeze in behind the table. Glasses get filled courtesy of Bev again and then they’re toasting to everyone and everything like it’s their last day on earth. And then it all goes a little _blurry_ again because whatever was in that glass is definitely _more than_ 50% of alcohol. It was closer to a dizzying 80% and Eddie was _not_ having a good time with it. They shouldn’t have mixed and matched, this was going to burn coming out of him through the oesophagus.

The lights are bright and the kinda hurt his eyes as he scans the crowd, half of the Losers have already vacated the booth – mostly since there’s no sense in trying to talk over the loud music. From what he can see, they all look like they’re having fun – _especially_ Alex and Angela who are dancing together far too close for it to be entirely _platonic_.

_Good for her, let’s go lesbians,_ he thinks blearily and grins to himself.

“What’chu smiling about, Spaghetti?” Richie purrs directly into his ear and he shivers, smacking the other away.

He squints at the leaning man. The bespectacled idiot is swaying even while sitting down and Eddie’s intoxicated mind has enough reason in it to know not to let him get up and dance just yet. Maybe, like, ever – considering Richie’s flailing limbs on the reg.

“Alex and Angela.” He points to the crowd where the two are dancing and Richie follows his finger until he spots the girls in question.

“Oh, shit, really?” Richie seems surprised – which in and of itself is not really a _surprise_.

“Oh, come on, Rich, it’s obvious they’re into each other.” He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest to block any unsubtle attempts that Mike is making at shoving another drink into his hands.

“Well, it’s not obvious to _me!”_ Richie whines, swaying in dangerously close to Eddie’s personal space.

And really, he can barely hear Richie, he should be allowing the other to lean in for convenience. But the other is like a furnace and despite the AC the club is still swelteringly hot and dank. And Richie’s words – well. He shoots the other a pointed look that flies over Richie’s head completely. _Oblivious_.

“Yeah, no surprises there.” He grumbles, looking at Mike for help but the other’s mysteriously vanished as well and there’s only Stan and Patty at the table – the latter dozing sleepily on Stan’s shoulder as he stares Eddie down with something akin to pity in his gaze.

He’s about to launch into an internal monologue about how getting drunk is fucking stupid when a tap on the shoulder brings his gaze to the right where the dance floor is. There’s a woman standing there, smiling down at him. She’s very pretty in the low light, definitely a tourist and from the looks of it European – a tan that pale can only come from the Baltic. He blinks at her owlishly, not really sure how to respond when she holds out a hand.

She giggles and then places it on his shoulder, leaning to whisper. “Do you want to dance?” Her accent is thick but there’s no mistaking the words. He should say no, he should shrug her off and keep Richie and Stan company but his feet are already bouncing because he’s been idle for too long and she _did_ ask politely instead of trying to drag him out so he nods.

He shoots the three at the table a glance before allowing her to lead him onto the dance floor. A cocktail of some sort gets pushed into his hand by _someone_ and he catches a glimpse of Alex’s menacing smile before the night starts blurring.

His concept of time is completely fucked from then on.

The bodies bumping into his _should_ bother him, the woman swaying her hips in front of him seductively _should_ put him off, the strobe lights _should_ be giving him a headache. And all of these things are valid, it’s all happening at the moment. But he just – _he doesn’t care_. He bumps back in equal measure, closes his eyes against the lights and lets the woman sway in his hold.

Eventually he gets passed from dance partner to dance partner as the songs play. They’re all singing the parts that they know, pop and EDM blasting from the subwoofers causing a rumble in his lungs. He ends up dancing with Ben and Beverly at one point, both of them accepting him in between them and forming a protective shell around him that makes him smile dazedly. They’re so nice. _This is nice. _And he – he doesn’t allow himself to think about Richie who might still be watching from the booth or might have found himself a dance partner somewhere in the crowd as well.

He migrates from Ben and Bev once they start drunkenly making out over his shoulder. He stumbles along the fringe of the crowd until a hand shoots out and he looks down to find Alex smiling at him sharply. Oh, _this is fine_, he’s going to be dancing with her for a while now. _But no_, apparently that’s not the case. She just keeps grinning and walks him back into someone’s arms. They’re strong and the chest pressed along his back is wide – for a moment he’s terrified it’s Richie but when he turns around he finds a tall, tanned man with gorgeous dark hair and chiselled features looking at him inquiringly. He blinks up innocently, knows he’s making a dumb fucking face but doesn’t care, not when the man smiles at him disarmingly and he realizes that yeah – this guy’s hot.

He lets the man guide their movements as the beat of the song gets heavier and dirtier. The guy’s not really touching him but the hands hovering around his hips are radiating warmth and it’s enough to leave Eddie thankful for the unbuttoned state of his shirt and _oh_, how did those last few buttons come undone? He looks his dance partner up and down and notices a similar situation there as well. And really, the body under the unbuttoned shirt is godlike – almost perfectly sculpted, he _itches_ to reach out and touch. But it’s not like with -- there’s nothing _to_ it. There are no tingles past the base attraction he feels and the immediate lust that seizes him at the thought of running his hands over those washboard abs is superficial at best.

Still, would it hurt to let loose just this once?

He feels parched, his throat is dry and he has probably sweat all of the liquids in his body out already. He moves his hands upwards smoothly – he hopes – and cups the side of the man’s face. He brings him down and prays to God that the man speaks English.

He breathes out steadily as the man’s hands finally grip his hips. “How about you buy me a drink and tell me your name?”

The man pulls back, amusement flickering in his hazel eyes. A nod. And then they’re moving towards the bar, Eddie’s wrist cradled in the other’s large hand. And _really_, he wants to know which country produces such fine specimens – for research purposes only – because as the man leans against the bar, a map of muscles in his back is revealed to Eddie and he feels wholly unprepared for this situation.

And yet, he steels himself and hops up onto the vacant chair next to the leaning tower of man, observing as the bartender mixes the drink up. The man turns to him then, promptly invading his personal bubble and tips his chin up.

“My name is Serkan, your friend tells me you’re here to have a good time, no?” The man leans back to give Eddie the much needed space.

If he weren’t red from all the dancing, he’s sure he’d be blushing furiously by now. He nods, spins an answer around his drunk noggin a few times before answering in the same manner. “I'm Eddie. And, I guess so – aren’t we all here for a good time?” He tilts his head innocently, noticing the way the man’s eyes darken and his mouth forms a smirk.

Serkan nods seriously, handing him his drink that Eddie readily accepts. “She is quite the – how do you say, ah, _character_.”

He snorts aggressively, certainly unattractively, almost spitting out some of his drink. Much to his amazement, the man doesn’t turn tail and run and instead looks almost endeared. He settles back into the chair and spreads his knees apart a little, a subtle invitation.

“That’s one way of putting it,” He smiles as the other takes the invitation and moves to stand in the newly opened space. And this man is ridiculously large, Eddie can only imagine the damage that he could do. Should he do it? Should he say _fuck it_ and risk it all for some good pipe? He’s certainly contemplating it. But – the problem is that the furthest he’s ever gone with a guy was back in high school and it was just a hasty exchange of handies under the bleachers they’d never talked about again. And after senior year – well – he’d forgotten about his affinity for men altogether.

Shouldn’t his first time be special?

The man cups the side of his face and tilts it upwards, eyes smouldering and looking ready to devour.

Whatever, virginity is a social construct anyway. 

Except – except that there’s another looming presence at his back now as well and he tugs away from the man reluctantly to look at – well, he’d know that looming presence anywhere. And Richie looks truly and well pathetic with a pout on his face, his glasses askew and his ridiculous Hawaiian shirt slipping off one of his shoulders. The other is also doing his damned best to not look Eddie in the eye. This was a bad idea, what was he thinking?

He sighs, pushing Serkan away with an apologetic grimace as he slips into worrywart-mode. “Rich, what’s wrong?”

“Stan and Patty left and everyone else is gone too and I couldn’t find Bill or Bev and I think the boat’s gone.” Richie rushes out in slurred sentences and Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Go outside and wait for me by the entrance. Do _not_ wander off.” He threatens with a pointed finger as Richie nods rapidly and scurries away.

“No dice then?” Serkan grins teasingly, still in good spirits.

He laughs a little, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry, man. Plenty of willing, non designated-responsible-friends out there.”

“None as handsome.” The man nods sagely and presses a sweet kiss to his cheek. “See you around, Eddie.”

He watches the other disappear back into the crowd with a sigh and finishes his drink before trying to squeeze his way through the mass and towards the door to the outside. He manages to do so only a couple of minutes later and he finds Richie there, crouched down and petting a cat that appears to be eating out of a can.

“What’s with the cat?” He asks, squatting to get closer to the animal as well, not being able to resist the fluffiness.

“It was hanging around back and it looked hungry. So I went to the gas station nearby and bought it some tuna.” Richie looks up from the cat, his grin is blinding and there is not a single trace of his earlier forlorn expression anywhere. Briefly, Eddie’s drunk brain has a _Thought_ that he’d just been expertly manipulated and cockblocked – by a drunk Richie, no less._ Son of a bitch._

“That’s nice of you. Quick question, though, what the fuck do you mean there’s no boat?!” He hisses quietly, trying not to startle the feasting animal.

“Oh, uh. I went to the marina a little while back and there was no yacht there. Weird, huh?” Richie looks wholly unconcerned by the turn of events and Eddie is going to fucking _lose it._

He stands up and starts walking towards the marina on his own. He can’t trust Richie or his shitty eyesight, he probably looked in the wrong place. There’s no way that they’d leave them stranded again. There’s no way that the crew of the ship wouldn’t – there’s no boat. The yacht is nowhere to be seen and Eddie wants to fucking _scream._

Instead, he crouches down and grips his head, shaking a little at the chill in the air making contact with his heated skin. This is _terrible_. This is absolutely the _worst_ thing that could have happened. Well, other than Richie taking off all of his clothes and jumping into the water which seems to be happening right now as well.

“Richie!!” He screeches, lunging forward and almost tipping over into the water as well. And god, a marina is literally the worst place you could go swimming. The water is filthy and infused with oil and Richie is going to get a fucking rash, he’s sure of it.

“Richie, come on! This isn’t funny, come back out.” He demands, holding a hand out and trusting the other not to pull him in.

“But I wanna go swimming!” The idiot in question paddles around in place, splashing water out around him.

“Rich, I’ll take you to the beach, just get out, come on.” He pleads; he really doesn’t want Richie to pick anything up. That’s be terrible and inconvenient and Eddie doesn’t want him infested with gross fucking bacteria when he tries to kiss him finally – and, oh, that’s a thought. A messy, drunk, thought that he should just pull the other in and lean down and –

“You promise?” Richie peers up at him with dark eyes.

“I promise.” He swears, hoping it will be enough.

“You promised not to ditch me, too. But you did. And you – you and that _guy_-” Richie splutters something that Eddie doesn’t quite catch. He thinks it’s about him spending the entire evening dancing with random people but he doesn’t let the thought stick.

“Come on, Rich. The beach is just a little ways down the shore, can’t exactly ditch you there?” He grumbles, waving his hand insistently.

“Fine.” Richie huffs and vaults himself back onto the concrete slabs of the marina – and Eddie is thankful that the other’s wearing his underwear because he’s uncomfortably close to the other’s crotch.

He jerks back and stands up, dusting his knees off. “Come on, get your clothes.”

He heads down the shoreline until the concrete becomes soft sand that’s getting into his fashionable shoes again. He sighs and takes them off, discarding his socks somewhere on the beach for the water to carry off. He wades along the warm grains slowly, allowing for Richie to catch up.

The taller promptly drops his clothes in the sand and rushes for the chilly water. Eddie watches him with a keen eye lest he drown like the drunk idiot that he is. He watches him enjoy himself and thinks about missed opportunities. But nothing seems to matter at the moment as his thoughts drift and he watches Richie swim in short circles.

And then Richie is gone.

Eddie’s entire being seizes up as he scans the horizon under the moonlight and doesn’t see a single trace of Richie.

“Rich!” He screeches, panic gripping his heart as he stumbles into the shallows. “Richie, this isn’t funny! Where the fuck are you!?” He squints out into the water, wading deeper until his shorts are halfway soaked. “Richie?” He whispers, fearing for the worst when something grips his leg and _tugs_.

He goes under with alarming speed, not having expected the attack. He takes in salt water and splutters to smack the hand around his calf away. _Not again,_ he groans inwardly as he tries to get his hands on any part of Richie he can manage. He manages to latch one of his legs around Richie’s middle and proceeds to literally climb him until he surfaces. The asshole is laughing annoyingly as Eddie splutters and spits out water over his shoulder.

“Oh, man! You should have seen your face!” Richie chuckles, resting his hands on Eddie’s thighs to support him.

“You absolute fucking _asshole_! I thought you fucking _drowned_!” He croaks, leaning back to smack the other in the face. “Don't _ever_ fucking do that to me again!”

And it’s just now that he’s aware that he’s shaking. His entire frame is trembling from shock. This is – this was Richie almost dying in front of him _again_. If he’d lost him this time – he doesn’t know what he would have done. Even if Richie was just messing around, Eddie’s been in this situation too many times already.

And he must look frantic enough for Richie to stop laughing and start shushing him. “Hey, hey. Shh, Eds, I'm sorry. It was a stupid joke. I didn’t know you’d be this upset.”

“What did you _think_ was gonna happen?!” He hisses angrily, rubbing at his face furiously to clean the salt water that’s making his eyes sting.

“’M sorry, Eds.” Richie hugs him closer, burying his face under his chin.

Eddie wraps his arm around the taller’s shoulders and places the other into Richie’s wet hair. “Don’t fucking do that to me ever again.”

“I won’t, I promise.” Richie mumbles into the skin of his throat and Eddie sighs.

“God, I'm fucking wet again. How does this keep happening?” He thinks out loud to avoid thinking about Richie’s hands on his ass and his lips against his skin. _This is a lot,_ he gulps.

“Where are we gonna sleep?” Richie pulls back, suddenly looking concerned about the missing boat situation.

“_Now_ you think about that!” He nudges the other’s nose with his index finger. “Get us to shore and then we’ll figure something out.”

Once he’s safely back on dry land, he pats his pockets and pulls out his phone. He closes his eyes against the onslaught of anger that surges up inside him. “Well, rest in peace my fucking phone, I guess.”

“Sorry,” Richie bumps into him from behind apologetically, like a puppy that knows he’s done wrong.

Sighing, he goes over to Richie’s clothes and rustles around until he finds the other’s wallet and phone. He checks the phone and finds it dead as well, battery probably drained. He shakes his head and calls Richie over. “Come, put your clothes on, we’re finding a hotel nearby.”

* * *

“I'm sorry but a single is all we have left.” The woman at the reception eyes them dubiously. Probably because they’re dripping water onto her carpet and they look like they’re about to keel over. “There is another one of our hotels a couple of blocks over...” She trails off, giving them another pointed look. “As I said, this is extremely late notice, Sir, I apologize.”

He rubs a hand over his forehead, “It’s fine. We’ll take what you have for the night.”

She nods and gets to typing, the both of them ignoring Richie who’s practically draped over Eddie’s back and snoozing lightly. A couple of moments later she hands him back Richie’s credit card and gives him the key card for their room.

“Room 45, enjoy your stay.” She doesn’t meet his eyes as she goes back to her work and he has to practically shove Richie towards the elevator.

“Come on, you’ll sleep once we’re in the room.” He grunts as they smack into the elevator mirror, holding Richie up just barely.

“Mm, carry me.” Richie mumbles, almost completely relaxed in Eddie’s hold.

And no matter how strong Eddie-from-here might be, Richie is still much taller than him and therefore almost impossible to heft up without it being a chore. And on top of all that – Eddie’s still plastered.

“No way in hell, Rich, you weigh a fucking tonne.”

“You’re mean.”

“Be happy I didn’t fucking dump you in front of the hotel on a bench.” He hisses as the elevator reaches the fourth floor. He shoves the other out of the metal box and towards the right, down a carpeted hallway. He’ll probably care about the mess they’re leaving in the morning – not now, though.

It takes some fumbling but he gets the door open and then pushes Richie inside before the other can attempt and climb onto his back. He slams the door closed, perhaps a little too harshly, and then flips the light on.

“God, that’s a tiny fucking bed.” He says to himself like it fucking matters. Like they hadn’t spent more time sleeping together on the sand, limbs tangled, than they had in their own beds already.

“Come on, clothes off.”

“Ooh, _Eds,”_ Richie croons, getting into his personal space and being generally the most frustrating person that Eddie has ever known.

He closes his eyes against another onslaught of anger that Richie doesn’t really deserve being directed at him. He nudges the other towards the bed with a little more force than necessary and Richie stumbles, goes face-first onto the mattress. He rolls his eyes at the other’s dramatics and Richie whines as he fights his way out of his stupid Hawaiian shirt. He leaves the other to his own devices and peels out of his own clothes. He contemplates what he’ll do with his wet clothes and decides to hang them out over a chair on the small balcony that overlooks the beach. He wonders how much money Richie is forking out for the room.

He quickly decides that whatever it is, serves him right for getting Eddie soaked again.

He goes into the bathroom and towels himself dry, feeling entirely too drained for a shower. He’ll be crusted with sea salt in the morning and itchy all over but that’s also a problem for tomorrow. He looks down at his underwear and winces because it’s still damp but it’ll have to do. Not like it’s any different than sleeping in wet swim shorts.

Richie’s already passed out on the bed when he exits the bathroom. The lankly limbs sprawled all across the bed might be an issue – well, they may have been if Eddie gave a damn any longer. _At least for the night._ So he just scoots an arm and a leg slightly sideways and curls into Richie’s frame like he belongs there – and he does. In a way, he does.

The ceiling is spinning when he finally settles down, the room is rocking like he’s back on the boat. As the stress of almost having lost Richie again fades, he realizes just how drunk he still is. The adrenaline fades and so does his consciousness, slowly, trickling down the drain.

And just like that – he’s out cold.

* * *

A flurry of colours wakes him.

They’re swirling like a psychedelic graphic from the seventies, weaving all around his limbs and making him float. It doesn’t feel like one of his drunk dreams, he’s had those before and they were always more painful than anything. No, he feels like he’s high almost, like he doesn’t have a care in the world anymore. His body spins along the swirls for a while before righting itself on its axis.

He looks down at the textured ground, it looks like tree bark but smoother. He crouches down and runs his palms along it. He doesn’t feel it. He sees his hand making the movement but there’s no sensation. He frowns and runs the same hand over the denim of his jeans. He feels the rough material just fine.

“Not this place again.” He groans and looks up at the endless darkness dotted with bright little spots of light reminiscent of stars. He walks forward until he reaches some sort of groove in the ground. He follows the line with his eyes and notices a slight curve to it in the distance. It repeats on the other side and he concludes that the plates he’s on are sort-of hexagonal.

He passes three more deep grooves before he comes to a raised end of whatever dome he’s on. Looking over, he finds that whatever he’s on is moving through the great nothingness at a slow and leisurely pace. There’s a wide, arrow-like protrusion coming out from the dome and he realizes with a start that he’s situated on the back of a giant turtle.

“Their name is Maturin.”

“What?”

“They’re a turtle God,” Eddie-from-here, feet dangling off the edge of the turtle shell, announces.

He walks along the ridge until he’s close enough to sit down next to other him. He still feels weird about seeing another one of him here in this nowhere space but he can’t really do anything about it now. He has to wait it out until he wakes.

“I can see you, you know.” Eddie-from-here says after a couple of moments of silence.

“Fucking obviously.” He grunts, annoyed that he has to sit here with the other idiot.

“No, I mean.” Other him sighs loudly. “I can see – Maturin shows me what you do on a daily basis if I ask them to. I don’t like to – I don’t like seeing how... _comfortable_ you are with just letting Richie – hang off you like that.”

“Well, tough shit, buddy.” He snorts – _the audacity._ “If you play your cards right, and if I manage to do what I’m here to do – it’ll be _you _he’s hanging off of. If you even want that.”

“Of course I want-” Eddie-from-here cuts himself off from what would have probably been an angry rant. And he sees how they’re different, how guarded this other Eddie seems in comparison to him who’s always exploded his emotions and thoughts outwards.

“Then shut the fuck up and be thankful.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“You – you’re an asshole. You’re not even thinking about how you’re uprooting everything I’ve ever known! You’re changing my fucking life from the core and you don’t even care. You’re gonna fuck off after this and I’ll have to deal with whatever mess you’ve left behind!” Eddie-from-here raises his fist and points it at him like he’s gonna try and hit him.

“Oh, yeah? And what? You were just gonna continue being miserable?”

“I was doing _fine!”_

He scoffs again, not believing the other one bit. “Judging by what I’ve seen, I wouldn’t say so, my guy.”

“Oh, and _you_ were super happy with your shitty fucking life!” Eddie-from-here hisses back meanly.

He squints at him accusingly. “I had no fucking choice, you dickhead. It’s why I’m doing you this fucking _mercy.”_

“Yeah, you’re a real fucking godsend, fucker.” The other him leans back against one of the grooves of the shell, closing his eyes.

“What, are you trying to tell me you’d be _happy_ seeing him marry that dickhead?” He grunts, copying the motion and laying back to look at the pseudo stars.

“Well, as long as _he’s_ happy...” Eddie-from-here waves a hand around in a vague gesture.

“But he’s _not _happy. Can’t you fucking see that he’s miserable? Were you there? Were you listening when he told me about his fears of holding you back? When he told me about his dream of opening a comedy club with you? You think he’s happy being a trophy husband? Richie? _Our_ Richie?” He grits his teeth, clenching his fists in his lap. He won’t – he’s not gonna get mad.

“I shouldn’t be the one to tell him how to be happy.” Eddie-from-here stares at him stubbornly.

“Fuck off. Of course not. But when you _know_ he’s not happy where he is now, you should try and fucking help him like a good fucking friend. This isn’t even about the fact that we love him. It’s about the fact that he might end up spending the rest of his life with some shitty bastard that’s fucking toxic!” He ends the sentence with a shout, getting angry despite himself. “I would give _anything_ to be able to go back to my Richie. I’d tell him everything, every fucking last feeling I’ve ever had for him and then we’d go to fucking California and open that stupid comedy club and we’d be fucking happy. Not whatever this shit you guys pass off as happiness over here.”

They lapse into silence again; each lost in their own heads except Eddie’s lost in the stars again. He wants to wake up. He doesn’t want to be here with this disappointment of a man that calls himself Eddie Kaspbrak. He wants to wake up with Richie’s arms around him, holding him securely.

“How do you do it? How are you just so – comfortable touching him and hugging him and being carried by him without just wanting to fucking die?” Eddie-from-here bites out, sounding bitter.

“Because it’s all I know.” He sighs, resigned to talking to other-him. “I went from being comfortable with Richie throughout my childhood to not knowing Richie at all. And then back to knowing him like we never even left Derry. We didn’t have the period of growing apart. We didn’t get to grow up either. I remember my adult life like I’m watching a movie. Like it’s not me. Because it’s not really me, you know. It’s not who I wanted to be when I grew up, it’s not where I wanted to end up. So – it’s what feels right. Being close to Richie is the safest place I can be.”

“That’s – that’s fucking sad, man.” Other Eddie says solemnly.

“Tell me about it.” He chuckles mirthlessly, desperately wanting to wake up already. “So, like, let me have this, yeah? You’ll be fine once you get back. You’ll have your own moment with him once I’m gone. I’ll set it up real nice, you just gotta trust me.”

Eddie-from-here eyes him again and then nods his head slowly. “Okay, I’ll – I’ll keep watching. I’m scared shitless but whatever happens can’t be worse than whatever is going on there now.”

“That’s the fucking spirit.” He smacks the other him on the back and then the turtle is lurching forward, sending them into another vortex of spiralling colours and levitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing this was a challenge bc god i usually try not to think about much when i'm drunk but writing from a drunk persons perspective just made me realize how hyper-vigilant i am while in a club and looking out for my friends and how Eddie was totally not that during this entire thing because i wouldnt have strayed five meters from my friends during the whole thing and this bitch just went off.  
anyway, hope you enjoyed and now we have like a little ways to go - have like three ? probably three more days to write out into plot and then it's the end  
I assume at least 4 more chapters but we'll see! Stay tuned!


	9. The Irishman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies once again for the update time, i seem to have been out of commission due to college again  
As for the story itself, it's coming to a close. I'd say another three to four chapters more (three are more likely) and then we're done!

He wakes up to the sound of retching. He blinks his eyes open and immediately regrets it because the sun is directly in his eyes. He curses inwardly and rolls over – right into a puddle of drool. A shiver of revolt roves down his spine and he jumps away from it – perhaps too quickly for the headache that he’s sporting.

“Rich?” He calls out because the bed is empty and they’re in a hotel that he’s not familiar with and Richie isn’t _there-_

More retching from somewhere to the side, followed by the sound of a prolonged whine. He grunts and gets out of bed, stumbling a little as he trips over one of Richie’s discarded sneakers. He scratches at his sides, feeling disgusting from the clinging salt still, as he kicks open the door to the bathroom. Richie is, predictably, hunched over the toilet bowl and puking his guts out.

“Rich, you okay?” He asks, which is stupid, because he’s obviously not, but he doesn’t know what else to do.

“Eds?” Richie seems surprised to see him which is fucking stupid as well, because who else would it be? The kneeling man looks him over, _obviously_ drawing the wrong conclusion, considering the pure expression of _fear_ that crosses his face and _stays_ there.

“Who else, fuckface? Don’t you remember?” He takes mercy on the other, looks down at himself and notices the five points on his left thigh that indicate just how strong Richie’s grip is. Trying not to blush, he crosses his arms over his chest. “You got smashed, our fucking friends left us, I got dunked in the ocean again and then we crashed here because neither of our phones are working.”

“Oh,” Richie’s face relaxes momentarily before his brows furrow again. “What do you mean they left us?”

“The boat was gone by the time we came out of the club. My phone got wet and yours is drained. We’re stranded.” He approaches Richie slowly, putting a hand on his back as another wave of sickness passes over him. “Is it the gall thing? Bile?”

“Uh-huh.” Richie voices meekly, leaning his face onto the smooth porcelain of the bowl.

“Don't do that, it’s fucking disgusting.” He flicks the other’s ear and tugs him away from the bowl. He places a hand on the other’s forehead next, wiping away the cold sweat there. Disgusting, again, but – well, it’s Richie. “Don’t even think about drinking water yet, maybe small sips but anything bigger than a sip and you’ll be throwing it up again.” He leans back to check the clock on the nightstand. “Three hours until checkout, plenty of time for you to get your shit together.”

“I feel like my insides are my outsides.” Richie complains, making a face and reaching for the cup of water on the sink next to the toilet. Eddie watches carefully as Richie takes a swig, swirls the water around and then spits it back out. _Good, he listens_.

“Yeah, well, shouldn’t have mixed your drinks. That sweet liquor shit will poison you rotten.” He’s lucky that he never gets sick like that. He’s seen peers vomit from less and yet all he gets is a mild headache and sometimes heartburn.

“Hindsight, Eddie, my dear.” Richie hums, sitting back down and leaning against the bathtub that’s jammed into the small bathroom.

“Just stay seated, you’ll agitate your stomach if you try laying down.” He warns before going over to the sink. He doesn’t have anything there and the thought of not washing his teeth makes him physically cringe so he rummages around until he finds complementary toothpaste and resigns himself to using his finger as a toothbrush instead. It’s impractical but the best he can do at the moment.

Richie watches him go through the process with a keen eye, probably keeping his mind occupied so that he doesn’t drift off back to sleep on the bathroom floor. Or maybe he’s checking him out – since Eddie is still only in his underwear – which is tight and too short because his shorts were tight and too short as well. He should probably make Richie leave so that he can shower.

“Think you’re okay to go sit on the bed now?” He asks even though he knows he’ll probably postpone the shower so that he can keep Richie company.

“Ugh, maybe.” Richie grunts, holding out a hand for Eddie to help him.

He hauls the other up, steadying him when he sways on his feet. “Easy.”

“God, this was a terrible idea.” Richie admits, rubbing a hand over his face.

“And yet nobody listens to me, ever.” He grumbles to himself as he leads Richie over to the bed in the room, nudging him until he’s sitting down and stopping him from automatically laying down.

“I’m sure the rest of the Losers and Loser-adjacents are all regretting it now.” Richie’s voice trails off as Eddie goes to the balcony to see if his clothes are dry. He shakes out the shirt and the shorts and puts them on, cringing at the little lines of salt in the dark material. _Terrible, absolutely horrible._

“What are we gonna do?” Richie asks once he returns inside.

“Try and find either an internet cafe or a library, anything with internet access. If that fails, maybe an _Apple_ store so we can buy a charger for your dumb phone.” He twists at the waist, popping his spine and wincing in pain.

“Sounds solid.” Richie hums, tipping to the side until he’s curled up on the bed.

Eddie watches him go through the process of grimacing and then bolting back upright as his stomach probably protests vehemently at the change in positions. “You need to walk it off. Now that you’re not puking, you should be fine to move.”

“Walking it off sounds like the worst possible thing I could do right now.” Richie whines but gets to his feet as ordered.

“Put some pants on, we’re heading out before I change my mind and just sleep here for another two days.” He sighs, rubbing at his eyes – he doesn’t even want to think T-minus how many days there are until the wedding. He feels like he should be making progress with this _thing_ that he’s trying to do. But so far, he’s only managed to make himself sad and managed to make Richie doubt everything he’s ever done in his life. Two not-so-good things.

“Bossy,” Richie grumbles but then seems to think better of it. “You know what? No, today I’m listening to you only. No more personal constitution, today I’m obeying orders.”

Eddie is – well, he’s a little taken aback and flattered. It’s not what he wants, really, but if Richie’s willing to follow orders then it’s an added bonus. After a moment he nods his head, deciding that he’s going to get them through this and that he’s going to get them back on that damn boat.

“Where are your glasses, dumbass?” He looks around, realizing the specs were what was missing on Richie’s face and why the other was probably squinting at him so furiously.

“Probably somewhere on the floor.” Richie sighs and crouches by the bed, doing his damned best to pretend that he can see.

Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose and sets out to help him. This is going to be a long day.

* * *

Male was pretty – it was like a little island paradise – but it was absolutely overrun by tourists – again like any other island paradise. As far as capitals went, it wasn’t very big either. The hotel that they were in is by the shore so they have to make their way through the throng of tourists. The streets they manoeuvre through are small and cramped but he takes charge like he knows what he’s doing.

And he doesn’t, not really. He doesn’t know this town, he doesn’t have a clue where they’re going. All he has is a small map they picked up at the hotel and a clear head. And that’s certainly more than Richie has at the moment. Richie, who is clinging to his arm like his life depends on it as they stumble down the streets of Male.

“Do you think we’ll find _any _kind of store anywhere here?” Richie asks once they’ve lost themselves in the same part of town thrice over. “This place is as technologically depleted as my worst nightmare. I never knew I was so tech-addicted!”

“Shut up, I’m trying to see.” He grunts and focuses on the map that’s a little scrunched in his left hand because Richie’s holding his right in a death grip.

“How does my talking affect your sight?!” Richie crows, pushing closer to him just to be annoying.

“You’re distracting me, you prick.” He tries to tug his arm out of the grip but Richie’s somehow still stronger than him so he just makes both their hands flail in the air petulantly.

“Aw, Eds, baby, I’m such a handsome distraction, though. Right?” Richie croons and Eddie turns sharply, smacking him on the nose with the map. “Hey!” Richie grunts, jumping back.

“Shut up. There’s supposed to be a market somewhere near here. A bazaar or something. Maybe they have something there.” He tugs the other into another small street and then a couple more before they hear the sounds of a lot of people in one place. He steels himself and leads them out into the crowd.

The bazaar is a lot of stalls set up in rows, covered with various cloths, with people milling about busily or lingering at a particular stall for bargaining. Aside from the stalls, the streets boxing in the square is lined with shops and people selling things on blankets or carpets, goodies strewn about haphazardly. It’s oddly endearing, something Eddie’s never seen in person before. Though, Eddie’s not sure if it’s a bazaar or a flea market. Either way, there’s a lot on offer and, surely, there will be an electronics store here somewhere. He hopes.

“Hey, look, a McDonald’s!” Richie points out excitedly and Eddie rolls his eyes – he’s too tired to muster up words of scorn for capitalism at the moment.

“Focus, Rich, any electronics. We’re not here for trinkets.” He tries to be stern, and really, he should be playing tough. Richie’s the one that got them into this mess in the first place.

Which is exactly why Eddie loses Richie in the crowd a couple of minutes in.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He runs a hand through his hair furiously, regretting ever stepping foot into the Maldives._ Stupid wedding, stupid fucking wedding location, idiotic and pompous rich people. Fuck the bourgeoisie._

He looks around, trying to see if anyone is towering over the locals and the tourists but he can’t spot Richie, or his obnoxious shirt, anywhere. He rushes along the stalls instead, keeping an eye out for the other while also trying to find a store for the stupid charger.

“Where’s a payphone when you need one?” He laments sadly, bumping into someone and apologizing even though they probably don’t understand him. He wishes he had the forethought to get a waterproof phone but. He guesses Eddie-from-here never had these kinds of issues.

He walks around the market, feeling a little lost without Richie’s hands on his arm grounding him. People try to sell him stuff and the food from the stalls smells great but he doesn’t have the appetite to stomach anything when he’s lost sight of Richie again.

Someone grabs his arm abruptly and he’s about to throw hands when he turns around and sees that it’s Richie and that he looks a little panicked.

“Um, we should probably start, like, running.”

“_What. _Did you do?” He hisses, heading in the opposite direction, and dragging Richie with him.

“I didn’t have the correct currency so I just shoved a bunch of dollars at them when they protested that they didn’t want them because the nearest exchange office is at the airport. And um, the lady’s sons are sort-of after me because in my haste I knocked over some vases and they broke and then I didn’t have enough to pay for _that_ and they didn’t accept credit cards.” Richie rushes out in a hurry, words a little breathy because they’re practically jogging by that point.

“I hate you. Why did I even think this was a good idea?!” He screeches, rushing into a small alley and bursting out on the other side in a residential area. He slows them down, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. He grips Richie’s hand and throws his arm around his shoulders. “Pretend we aren’t running from the locals.” He hushes, looking around for anyone that might be able to help them find a socket for the charger.

“I’m sorry, Eds.” Richie mumbles. “Think the universe hates me, maybe.” The taller hums to himself and Eddie kind-of still wants to punch the lucky bastard.

_You have no idea,_ he thinks to himself. “At least you got the charger.”

Richie’s steps falter before stopping entirely. “Um.”

He turns his head up to look at Richie so fast that something in his neck snaps. “What. Did you buy?”

“Um, I got you a-” Richie fumbles with something and pulls out a thin, copper-coloured chain out of his pocket with a charm attached at the end of it. “I thought you’d like it.” The taller holds it out and Eddie tries not to shake as he takes the gift into his hands.

It’s a small round charm with a yellow daffodil in it, encased in amber. It looks like it was hand-crafted with care and the copper-coloured frame has been engraved with a filigree-like design. It’s beautiful and it makes Eddie think all kinds of things but at the forefront of his mind is _why?_

“Rich, it’s beautiful but – why would you risk getting your ass handed to you for this? For me?” He prays that his voice isn’t as weak as his knees feel. Daffodils – the stupid idiot probably doesn’t even know – _rebirth, new beginnings, chivalry and respect, uncertainty and unrequited love. _He pinches the bridge of his nose in a move that’s becoming too frequent. _Spit in my face, Universe, why don’t ‘cha?_

Richie shrugs like it’s no fucking big deal. “I don’t know. I know this trip’s been shitty for you and I just – I wanted you to have at least _something_ nice from it. I’m sorry for dragging you all the way out here for something that won’t-” Richie cuts himself off with a shake of his head.

_By God_, does Eddie want to push. But he knows he can’t. Richie isn’t one for getting talked into things. He’s too headstrong for that, too rooted in his own ideas that are sometimes foolish enough to work and sometimes just plain ol’ foolish.

“Rich.” He sighs and tugs the other in for a hug. “It hasn’t been a shitty trip. Sure, we’ve had our moments but spending time with you and the Losers, it’s worth the little mishaps along the way.” He answers honestly. And yeah, maybe he_ is _happy spending his last days on Earth with Richie and the rest of the Losers. Maybe that’s the best option out there for him. It’s all that he could hope for, a chance to say goodbye.

Richie wraps his arms around his shoulders and squeezes him tightly like he doesn’t want to let go – even though he has to, eventually. “I’m glad you’ve had at least _some_ fun. If that’s even possible.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know I’m not the most fun-prone person, don’t have to rub it in.” He pinches the other’s sides and Richie yelps, jumping away. He quietly slips the chain around his neck and looks at the pedant like it holds the answers to the universe’s mysteries.

“Excuse me, can I help you?” A voice sounds, startling them from their little cocoon of comfort.

“Hi! Yeah, actually!” He turns on the charm and faces in the direction. A young woman with suspicion in her eyes is looking at them warily. “We got a little lost and this map ain’t much good. Can you tell us if there’s anywhere with internet access in town? Our phones died and neither of us has a charger. Any internet cafes or anything like that?” He hopes he sounds as pitiful as he feels deep down inside.

Her eyes widen a little as she takes in the sight of Richie’s tall-ass figure like she recognizes him. She seems a little flustered and quickly looks away. Eddie hopes Richie’s international fanbase doesn’t reach this far out.

“Oh, we don’t have anything like that here but I could lend you my phone or something.” She wipes her hands onto the apron she’s wearing and opens the low gate to let them in. “Please, this way. I’m Meera, good to meet you.” She smiles at them brightly and Eddie responds before Richie can even think about giving her their real names.

“I’m David and this is... Keith.” He winces internally at the _look_ Richie gives him.

“Nice to meet cha’, Meera.” Richie pretends to tip his hat to accompany his stupid – was that _Irish?_ – accent.

The joy in her eyes falls a little and yeah, she definitely thinks that Richie _is_ Richie. Can’t have word getting out. He tries to smile through his own thoughts as they follow Meera into the house.

“Here, take a seat. I’ll be right back.” She bustles around the kitchen for a moment before dashing out the door and into another room.

“She definitely knows who you are.” He says in the woman’s absence and Richie snorts.

“No’ with this accent she don’t!” Richie winks exaggeratedly and Eddie closes his eyes lest he do something stupid like sock Richie in the face again.

“Here you go!” Meera hands him her iPhone and Eddie takes it with a smile, logging into his Facebook, grateful that Eddie-from-here has the same passwords as he does. _Richie’s birthday, so predictable_.

“So, what brings you two to Male?” He hears Meera ask as he types out a text to Alex, furiously and with many typos.

“Oh, me an’ David are on our honeymoon!” Richie shoots out like he’d practiced and Eddie almost drops the phone in surprise. He wants to turn around and glare at the other but that would blow the cover they now, apparently, have.

“Oh, that’s sweet! You know...” Meera trails off, “You look a lot like this one American comedian on Netflix?”

“You guys get Netflix ‘ere?” Richie blurts out and Eddie turns to him in horror but Meera doesn’t seem to find it insensitive.

She chuckles, “Nord VPN, as far as they know, I’m in Canada.”

“Smart, smart.” Richie nods wisely, think he’d avoided the topic but Eddie knows she’s not going to drop it.

“His name’s Richie Tozier, I think.”

Eddie wishes he could see the face she’s making because whatever it is, it’s causing Richie to fidget nervously. “Ah, I get that one all the time! That American bastard with the bad jokes, right? No, no. I’m a radio show host in Dublin.”

The phone in his hand vibrates with an incoming message and he breathes a sigh of relief.

_Alex: fcking idiots!!!!!1! go bk to the port well pick u up in half an hour_

He scoffs as he logs out of his account; like it’s his fault they were left behind. He joins Richie in the kitchen again and plaster himself to the taller’s side, playing the part of the loving husband.

“I can’t thank you enough, you just saved our hides!” He looks up at Richie lovingly and Richie bites back a choked off sound.

“Oh, no, no. You were just fortunate enough I own a shop in the port and speak English well enough.” She waves her hand. “If you need a ride anywhere, I could take you...?”

“Oh! No, we don’t want to keep you away from your work.” He motions to the table where a little roll of dough is still waiting to be made into something.

Meera frowns and then seems to realize that she was in the middle of something. She flushes and nods eagerly, “You’re right. Anyway, it was nice meeting you two!”

“We’ll let ourselves out, thanks again!” He waves and shoves Richie out the door, eager to get to the port and onto that fucking yacht again.

“Why couldn’t I have told her it’s me?” Richie pouts, “I could have signed something for her.”

“Are you really _autograph-famous?” _He raises an eyebrow and Richie slaps a hand against his own forehead.

“You wound me, beloved husband!”

“Fuck off, Rich.”

“I am _too_ autograph-famous!”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

* * *

It takes them another half an hour to find their way back to the port where they’d started their day.

The marina is just as busy as when they left, if not more, but it’s not difficult to locate the larger-than-life yacht among the smaller boats. He beelines for it, Richie hot on his trail.

He spots Beverly rushing for them but he waves her back, “On to the boat, no time. Running from trouble!” He shouts and Beverly stops abruptly before changing course back for the boat.

They run the last couple of meters and up the ramp before the crewmen pull it up again. He’s breathing harshly and ignoring the scolding look on Bev’s face. Richie is just as bad to look at because he’s looking a little green around the gills again and maybe they shouldn’t have moved as fast as they did. He’s holding up admirably well for someone who’d been puking just a couple of hours prior.

He pitches upwards, suddenly reminded of why exactly they were left behind. “What the _fuck_ guys?!” He demands, hands on his hips as the boat starts moving.

“In our defence we were really fucking plastered.” Bev, at least, has the decency to look sheepish. “The crew doesn’t know everyone and the captain didn’t do a headcount because we all came in at different times. Half of us were already passed out .”

“Far as I recall, Richie said he wanted to stay the night.” Stan, who’d been suspiciously quiet on the whole ordeal speaks up.

“You what?!” He turns on Richie who’s still sitting down on the deck.

“I don’t remember, please don’t kill me!” Richie holds out his hands and Eddie stays his blade for the moment.

“Why would he want to do that?” Alex approaches him with curious eyes, looking at the pedant hanging around his neck with a smug grin and thumbing along the filigree.

“He said he wanted to make sure Eddie was safe or something. Cause – you know, you and that _beefcake...”_ Stan trails off meaningfully.

He clears his throat forcibly. “Yes, I know. And, pray tell, why the fuck did you listen to him?”

“He seemed concerned.” Stan shrugs, “And we couldn’t pry him away from the table. Patty was asleep at the club already and everyone else was gone. If he wanted to cockblock, I sure as hell wasn’t going to stand in his way.” All eyes, in sync, turn to Richie – who, in turn, becomes an impressive shade of red.

“I was worried! I didn’t want Eddie to have nowhere to go but with this guy! I thought that I’d stay back and get a room somewhere and tell him he can return to it once he’s – done. Or whatever.” Richie defends the actions of Drunk Richie valiantly.

Eddie – he can’t really stay mad. Even though that didn’t end up happening for one reason or another, it’s a sweet gesture.

“Hate to say it but, yeah. The boat couldn’t have stayed docked there till morning. Seems like he made a good call even _if_ it did cost you a good lay.” Alex pats him on the shoulder like she feels sorry for him. She probably knows well enough what ended up happening.

“Not to sound like a bitch or anything, but, like, can someone help me up and get me to a bed. I’m in chronic need of sleep.” Richie holds out his arms and Stan and Bev help him to his feet.

“Yeah, I need a shower.” He rolls his shoulders, feeling the tension lessen in his back.

“Come on, we’ll show you to the guest rooms.” Beverly says gently and Eddie, for once, is glad to let someone else lead the way.

* * *

He wants to spend the rest of the day doing absolutely nothing.

After they return back to the resort, he hightails it to the cabin and throws himself onto the bed, face-first. He lets Alex, who'd trailed after him at a moderate pace, sit by his head and run a hand through his hair soothingly as he mourns what could have been.

“Shame about that Turkish hunk, huh?” She prods gently.

He groans, turning his head to bury his face into her thigh. “I don't really care about that guy.”

“What’s up, then?” Her nails scratch along his scalp like she’s petting a dog and he can’t say that he minds it much.

“It’s Richie, what else would I be upset about?” He sighs heavily. “I don't want to push him into, like, a rash decision but I don't want to – to, leave him alone either. If that makes sense. I can’t force him to just – not marry Stu. I can only say my part and then hope that he does what’s best for him.” He pauses, thinking about how everyone’s just expecting him to kiss Richie out of the blue and for everything to just be magically okay from then on.

“Everyone expects me to do something but – I can’t do that to him. He’s been with Stuart for years now and I – Eddie-from-here has had every chance to say something. But he just kept quiet and let the wound fucking fester or whatever.” He grips the soft covers of the bed like his life depends on it, watching his knuckles turn white.

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up?” She tugs at his hair in jest and he shakes his head.

“No – not giving up – just... not doing what everyone expects me to do. I never planned on making a grand gesture, I never planned on whisking him away like some sort of short Disney prince. I'm lucky to have been able to spend this time with him as is. I’ll tell him how I feel and then – whatever happens, happens.” He peeks out from where he was hiding his face and meets Alex’s eye. She has a concentrated look about her and she’s wearing her glasses again like she couldn’t bother with contacts so her eyes are a little hard to read.

“As much as I’d love to see you do something absolutely feral, you funky little man, I respect that you’re taking the circumstances of this whole ordeal into consideration.” Her response is very diplomatic so he waits patiently for the rest of it. “But, Eddie – sometimes it’s good to go after the things you want to. I know you’re trying to be rational about this but you’ve been in love with the guy for as long as you can remember. So in the, very unlikely, event that he decides to still marry Stuart, you should like, at least fight for him. I'm not saying go all psycho on his ass but put more into your words than common sense and reasonability.”

He’s a little stumped at her words. And now that she says it, he can see how he comes off as resigned to whatever happens. But she might be right. Maybe it’s okay to push a little. Especially if he knows that Richie’s feeling the same way. Maybe he should have tried to kiss him in the Marina. Maybe he should have told him he loved him this morning. Maybe he should have yelled _please don’t marry that dickbag _the moment he set foot in the country and saw Richie at the airport.

So he nods, taking her words to heart. “I’ll take this into consideration. Your appeal has been noted, Miss Martinelli.”

“How very kind of you, Mr. Kaspbrak.” She pinches his cheek in retaliation and he swats her away. “Now come on, the two of us are having dinner with Stan while Patty’s out with Bev and the rest of the girls doing things that I don't partake in.”

“Like what?” He rolls over onto his back with great effort, unhappy that he has to move again but at the same time starving and looking forward to a good meal.

“I think they’re taking Richie to a hair salon and a spa. I couldn’t be bothered to sit in steam for hours so that got a hard _pass_ from me.” She waves her hand. “Plus – uhm. Angie in a bikini.” She goes uncharacteristically red in the face at that and Eddie grins.

“Gross but, like, yeah? You got a date to the wedding? Finally replaced me, I see.” He shakes his head dramatically and she punches him in the shoulder.

“Shut up, there’s not gonna be a wedding. But, I mean. She’s really nice and really, really _hot. _I just wish she didn’t live so far away, you know.” Alex shrugs. “She’s really smart, too, she works in a lab up in New York. I love hearing her talk about all the science-y stuff. She doesn’t even mind explaining simple chemistry to me. It’s – it’s been a good couple of days.”

He feels warm in the chest. He feels mushy and happy and it’s all because Alex is happy. He’s going to miss her so much once he – well. He supposes he’s not going to miss much of anything after that, yeah?

“Hey,” He nudges her with the back of his hand, “If this works out – how about we split the company? Eddie goes to Cali and Richie and you go work for the branch in New York. That way, you can both do what you love while also being with the people you care about.”

“Terrance is gonna hate that plan.” She sniffles faintly, looking away and embarrassed at the fact that she let her ‘cool-girl’ exterior slip.

“He’s gonna be happy for you guys because he’s a great friend.” He points out and holds a hand for her to take. “Come on, come pick out an outfit for me. I know you love playing dress-up.”

“Hell yeah, I'm putting you into salmon shorts!” She cheers, springing up and rushing over to his suitcase.

“Already regretting this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always find me on twitter and on tumblr @marionettefthjm


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